THE ISLANDS OF THE BLEST
In Carmel pines the summer wind
Sings like a distant sea.
O harps of green, your murmurs find
An echoing chord in me!
On Carmel shore the breakers moan
Like pines that breast a gale.
O whence, ye winds and billows, flown
To cry your wordless tale?
Perchance the crimson sunsets drown
In waters whence ye sped;
Perchance the sinking stars go down
To seek the Isles ye fled.
21
