 | Country muse |  |
71
A FORTUNATE ISLAND
Across the hills, across the sea,
Across the land that lies beyond,
An islet slumbers in the waves
As languid as a lilied pond:
There roses keep a festival
Of breaking bud and scented breath;
And on the hills and by the sea
There is no dream of death.
Across the land that lies beyond,
An islet slumbers in the waves
As languid as a lilied pond:
There roses keep a festival
Of breaking bud and scented breath;
And on the hills and by the sea
There is no dream of death.
Festoons of princely purple hang,
And crimson creepers to and fro
Move to the whisper of the winds
That lull to linger, lift to go:
The golden birds on blooms of fire,
The lowlier larks on flaming heath,
Trill, for their happy hearts are sure
There is no dream of death.
And crimson creepers to and fro
Move to the whisper of the winds
That lull to linger, lift to go:
72
The lowlier larks on flaming heath,
Trill, for their happy hearts are sure
There is no dream of death.
Here are the summer sights and sounds
Of untempestuous summer seas;
The strand that as a vast harp rings
To foamy fingers' melodies.
And all who find this quiet isle
Across the hills, across the sea,
Across the land that lies beyond,
Shall live eternally.
Of untempestuous summer seas;
The strand that as a vast harp rings
To foamy fingers' melodies.
And all who find this quiet isle
Across the hills, across the sea,
Across the land that lies beyond,
Shall live eternally.
| Country muse | |