River, winding from the west,
Winding from the River May,
Often hath the Indian pressed
Through your black-gums and your mosses,
Where the alligator crosses
Still some lily-paven bay,
Basking there in lazy rest.
Still the spider-lily loops
Sprawling flowers, peels of pearl,
Where the green magnolia stoops
Buds to yellow-lily bonnets;
Where, the morning dew upon its
Golden funnels, curl on curl,
The festooning jasmine droops.
Who may paint the beauty of
Orchids blooming late in June,
Bristling on the boughs above!
Cypress trees where vine and flower,
Long, liana’d blossoms shower
On the deer that come at noon
To the inlets that they love.
Lilied inlets,—where the teal
Dabble ’mid the water-grasses,—
That some treasure seem to seal
With white blooms that star the river:
Bays, the swift kingfishers shiver
Into circles as each passes
O’er their mirrors that reveal.
Bends, reflecting root and moss,
Where the tall palmettos throng
’Mid the live-oaks; tower and toss
Panther necks whose heads are heavy:
Hamaks, where the perfumes levy
Tribute from the birds in song,
From the mocking-birds that cross.
Logs, the turtles haunt; and deeps
Of lagoons the searching crane
Wades; and where the heron sleeps;
Where the screaming limpkins listen,
And the leaping mullet glisten;
Where the bream and bass show plain,
And the dark didapper sweeps.
Coäcoochee! Coäcoochee!
Still your loved magnolias bloom,
Still the tangled Cherokee;
Still the blazing-star spreads splendor
Through the forest, and the tender
Discs of the hibiscus loom,
Rosy, where you once roamed free.
Osceola! Osceola!
Phantoms of your vanquished race
Seem around me: overawe
All my soul here. Mossy regions
Swarm with Seminoles: lost legions
Rise, the war-paint on each face—
Dead, long dead for Florida!