Classic Poem

It was a sweet and pleasant isle —
As fair as isle could be;
And the wave that kissed its sandy shore
Was the wave of the Indian sea.

It seemed an emerald set by Heaven
On the Ocean's dazzling brow —
And where it glowed long ages past,
It glows as greenly now.

I've wandered oft in its valleys bright,
Through the gloom of its leafy bowers,
And breathed the breath of its spicy gales
And the scent of its countless flowers.

I've seen its bird with the crimson wing
Float under the clear blue sky;
I've heard the notes of its mocking bird
On the evening waters die.

In the starry noon of its brilliant night,
When the world was hushed in sleep —
I dreamed of the shipwrecked gems that lie
On the floor of the soundless deep.

And I gathered the shells that buried were
In the heart of its silver sands,
And tossed them back on the running wave,
To be caught by viewless hands.

There are sister-spirits that dwell in the sea,
Of the spirits that dwell in the air;
And they never visit our Northern clime,
Where the coast is bleak and bare:

But around the shores of the Indian isles
They revel and sing alone —
Though I saw them not, I heard by night
Their low, mysterious tone.

Elysian isle! I may never view
Thy birds and roses more,
Nor meet the kiss of thy loving breeze
As it seeks thy jewelled shore —

Yet thou art treasured in my heart
As in thine own deep sea;
And, in all my dreams of the spirits' home,
Dear isle, I picture thee!