THE ISLANDS OF THE BLEST
Sometimes from ocean dusks I seem
To glimpse their crystal walls,
Dim jewels of mirage that gleam
In twilight's western halls.
Sometimes I hear below the moon
A music that pursues—
A wraith of melody, that soon
I doubt, and doubting, lose.
Those palmy shores no prow may find,
But once it seemed to me
A ghost of fragrance roamed the wind,
Yet was not of the sea.
What tho' my tale the seaman scorns?
The Chart of Dreams, unrolled,
Attests their haven's jasper bourns,
Their reefs of sunken gold.
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