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THE MUSIC OF NATURA MYSTICA

(Percy on board “The Petrel” in the Pacific, cruising among coral islands.)
Last Sunday morn I thought this azure isle
Was dreaming mine own dream; each bower of balm
That spiced the rich Pacific, every palm,
Smiled with the dream that lends my life its smile.
“These waves,” I said, “lapping the coral pile
Make music like a well-remembered psalm:
Surely an English Sunday, breathing calm,
Broods in each tropic dell, each flowery aisle.”
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The heaven's were dreaming, too, of English skies:
Upon the blue, within a belt of grey,
A well-known spire was pictured far away;
And then I heard a psalm begin to rise,
And saw a dingle—smelt its new-mown hay
Where we two loitered—loitered lover-wise.
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