But little needs this earth of ours
That shining from above her,
When many Pleiades of flowers
(Not one lost) star her over;
The rays of their unnumbered hues
Being refracted by the dews.
Wide-petalled plants, that boldly drink
The Amreeta of the sky;
Shut bells that, dull with rapture, sink,
And lolling buds, half shy;
I cannot count them; but between
Is room for grass and mosses green,
And brooks, that glass in different strengths All colours in disorder,
Or, gathering up their silver lengths
Beside their winding border,
Sleep, haunted through the slumber hidden, By lilies white as dreams in Eden.
Nor think each arched tree with each
Too closely interlaces,
To admit of vistas out of reach,
And broad moon-lighted places, Upon whose sward the antlered deer May view their double image clear.
For all this island's creature full,
Kept happy not by halves;
Mild cows, that at the vine-wreaths pull,
Then low back at their calves,
With tender lowings, as they feel
The warm mouths milking them for weal.
Free gamesome horses, antelopes,
And harmless, leaping leopards,
And buffaloes upon the slopes,
And sheep unruled by shepherds;
Hares, lizards, hedgehogs, badgers, mice,
Snakes, squirrels, frogs, and butterflies.
And birds that live there in a crowd-
Horned owls, rapt nightingales,
Larks bold with heaven, and peacocks proud,
Self-sphered in those grand tails;
All creatures glad and safe, I deem;
No guns nor springes in my dream!
The island's edges are a-wing
With trees that overbranch
The sea with song-birds, welcoming
The curlews to green change,
And doves from half-closed lids espy
The red and purple fish go by.
One dove is answering in trust
The water every minute,
Thinking so soft a murmur must
Have her mate's cooing in it;
So softly doth earth's beauty round
Infuse itself in ocean's sound.
My soul in love bounds forwarder
To meet the bounding waves!
Beside them straightway I repair,
To live within the caves;
And near me two or three may dwell
Whom dreams fantastic please as well.
Long winding caverns! glittering far
Into a crystal distance;
Through clefts of which, shall many a star
Shine clear, without resistance,
And carry down its rays the smell
Of flowers above invisible.
I said that two or three might choose
Their dwelling near mine own:
Those who would change man's voice and use
For Nature's way and tone-
Man's veering heart and careless eyes,
For Nature's stedfast sympathies.
Ourselves to meet her faithfulness,
Shall play a faithful part:
Her beautiful shall ne'er address
The monstrous at our heart;
Her musical shall ever touch
Something within us also such.
Yet shall she not our mistress live,
As doth the moon, of ocean;
Though gently as the moon she give
Our thoughts a light and motion,
More like a harp of many lays,
Moving its master while he plays.
No sod in all that island doth
Yawn open for the dead;
No wind hath borne a traitor's oath ;
No earth, a mourner's tread:
We cannot say by stream or shade,
"I suffered here,—was here betrayed."
Our only "farewell we shall laugh
To shifting cloud or hour;-
And use our only epitaph
To some bud turned a flower:
Our only tears shall serve to prove
Excess in happiness and love.
Our fancies shall their plumage catch
From fairest island birds,
Whose eggs let young ones out at hatch,
Born singing! then our words
Unconsciously shall take the dyes
Of those prodigious fantasies.
Yea, soon, no consonant unsmooth
Our smile-turned lips shall reach ;
Sounds sweet as Hellas spake in youth,
Shall glide into our speech-
(What music certes can you find
As soft as voices which are kind?)
And often by the joy without
And in us, overcome,
We, through our musing, shall let float
Such poems, sitting dumb,-
As Pindar might have writ, if he
Had tended sheep in Arcady;
Or Eschylus-the pleasant fields
He died in, longer knowing;
Or Homer, had men's sins and shields
Been lost in Meles flowing;
Or poet Plato, had the undim
Unsetting Godlight broke on him.
Choose me the cave most worthy choice,
To make a place for prayer;
And I will choose a praying voice
To pour our spirits there.
How silverly the echoes run
Thy will be done,-Thy will be done.
Gently yet strangely uttered words !-
They lift me from my dream.
The island fadeth with its swards,
That did no more than seem!
The streams are dry, no sun could findThe fruits are fallen, without wind!—
So oft the doing of God's will
Our foolish wills undoeth!
And yet what idle dream breaks ill,
Which morning-light subdueth; And who would murmur and misdoubt, When God's great sunrise finds him out?
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