I would I had been island-born.
I dearly love things insular:
The coral bed, the quaint bazaar,
The palm and breadfruit never shorn,
The smoking cone that cannot char
The azure of a tropic morn,
The dancing girl in soft cymar,—
All these...
|
As we the withered ferns Life... |
With a ripple of leaves and a tinkle of streams |
I am weary of lying within the chase |