Cabbage-Trees.

Oh, cabbage-trees are witchy things,
At even-fall,
At twilight-time;
Each on the sky a shadow flings
When hid birds call
A last sweet chime.

They change their drabness, and they seem
All magic-bound,
All stiffly-fair,
Like tropic palms that stand and dream
Where slow waves sound
Through darkling air.

Oh, cabbage-trees are drab and dull
Through song-sweet days,
Through hours sun-bright;
But cabbage-trees when breezes lull
Are things to praise
At fall of night.

—Elsa Flavell.

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