In Los Angeles.
A breath of balm--of orange bloom!
By what strange fancy wafted me,
Through the lone starlight of the room?
And suddenly I seem to see
The long, low vale, with tawny edge
Of hills, within the sunset glow;
Cool vine-rows through the cactus hedge,
And fluttering gleams of orchard snow.
Far off, the slender line of white
Against the blue of ocean's crest;
The slow sun sinking into night,
A quivering opal in the west.
Somewhere a stream sings, far away;
Somewhere from out the hidden groves,
And dreamy as the dying day,
Comes the soft coo of mourning doves.
One moment all the world is peace!
The years like clouds are rolled away,
And I am on those sunny leas,
A child, amid the flowers at play.
