  The island of dreams lies not far away, Encompassed by sunlight and sea, I happened to reach it the other day, While breezes were playing so languidly— My boat scarcely moved on the bay. And this is the island I happened to find, The isle ’mid the glittering deep: A bower with luxuriant foliage entwined, ’Mongst rocks that are mossy and steep, Where shadows give rest to the mind. And here in the shade is a clear, cooling spring, Which ceaselessly murmurs its song, And down in a glade the brown thrushes sing, In afternoons drowsy and long, In hours that bear dreams on their wings; And balm for the care-laden spirit have they, Of duty forgetfulness sweet, With fragrance of roses they lead you astray, To realms of fair visions replete, Bright visions of midsummer-day. The fairies are here and the unreal things, Derided by men of pure facts, Though Science doth saunter here, sometimes she clings To fancy’s prophetical acts, And out of the dreamland them brings. Yea, great things are born in this enchanted place, Where poets do loiter and rest, Beholding fair visions which beckon their race To vistas more lofty and blest, In beauty’s immaculate ways. |
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