| |
| IT chanced to me upon a time to sail | |
| Across the Southern ocean to and fro; | |
| And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale | |
| Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go. | |
| And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep, | 5 |
| Or like a clear, calm stream o’er mossy stone, | |
| Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep, | |
| And left us yearning still for lands unknown. | |
| |
| And when we found one,—for ’t is soon to find | |
| In thousand-isled Cathay another isle,— | 10 |
| For one short noon its treasures filled the mind, | |
| And then again we yearned, and ceased to smile. | |
| And so it was from isle to isle we passed, | |
| Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips; | |
| And when that all was tasted, then at last | 15 |
| We thirsted still for draughts instead of sips. | |
| |
| I learned from this there is no Southern land | |
| Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men. | |
| Sick minds need change; but, when in health they stand | |
| ’Neath foreign skies, their love flies home agen. | 20 |
| And thus with me it was: the yearning turned | |
| From laden airs of cinnamon away, | |
| And stretched far westward, while the full heart burned | |
| With love for Ireland, looking on Cathay! | |
| |
| My first dear love, all dearer for thy grief! | 25 |
| My land, that has no peer in all the sea | |
| For verdure, vale, or river, flower or leaf,— | |
| If first to no man else, thou ’rt first to me. | |
| New loves may come with duties, but the first | |
| Is deepest yet,—the mother’s breath and smiles; | 30 |
| Like that kind face and breast where I was nursed | |
| Is my poor land, the Niobe of isles. | |
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