  The wash of endless waves is in their tops, Endlessly swaying, and the long winds stream Athwart them from the far-off shores of dream. Through the stirred branches filtering, faintly drops Mystic dream-dust of isle, and palm, and cave, Coral and sapphire, realms of rose, that seem More radiant than ever earthly gleam Revealed of fairy mead or haunted wave. A cloud of gold, a cleft of blue profound,— These are my gates of wonder, surged about By tumult of tossed bough and rocking crest: The vision lures. The spirit spurns her bound, Spreads her unprisoned wing, and drifts from out This green and humming gloom that wraps my rest. |
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