The Orange Bough

Oh! bring me one sweet orange-bough,
To fan my cheek, to cool my brow;
One bough, with pearly blossoms drest,
And bind it, mother! on my breast!

Go, seek the grove along the shore,
Whose odours I must breathe no more;
The grove where every scented tree
Thrills to the deep voice of the sea.

Oh! Love’s fond sighs, and fervent prayer,
And wild farewell, are lingering there:
Each leaf’s light whisper hath a tone
My faint heart, even in death, would own.

Then bear me thence one bough, to shed
Life’s parting sweetness round my head;
And bind it, mother! on my breast
When I am laid in lonely rest.