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| O WANDERER in the southern weather, | |
| Our isle awaits us; on each lea | |
| The pea-hens dance; in crimson feather | |
| A parrot swaying on a tree | |
| Rages at his own image in the enamelled sea. | 5 |
| |
| There dreamy Time lets fall his sickle | |
| And Life the sandals of her fleetness, | |
| And sleek young Joy is no more fickle, | |
| And Love is kindly and deceitless, | |
| And all is over save the murmur and the sweetness. | 10 |
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| There we will moor our lonely ship | |
| And wander ever with woven hands, | |
| Murmuring softly, lip to lip, | |
| Along the grass, along the sands— | |
| Murmuring how far away are all earth’s feverish lands: | 15 |
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| How we alone of mortals are | |
| Hid in the earth’s most hidden part, | |
| While grows our love an Indian star, | |
| A meteor of the burning heart, | |
| One with the waves that softly round us laugh and dart; | 20 |
| |
| One with the leaves; one with the dove | |
| That moans and sighs a hundred days; | |
| How when we die our shades will rove, | |
| Dropping at eve in coral bays | |
| A vapory footfall on the ocean’s sleepy blaze. | 25 |
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