An Island

Lyrics

I. My dream is of an island-place         Which distant seas keep lonely, A little island on whose face         The stars are watchers only: Those bright still stars! they need not seem Brighter or stiller in my dream. II. An island full of hills and dells,         All rumpled and uneven With green recesses, sudden swells,         And odorous valleys driven So deep and straight that always there The wind is cradled to soft air. III. Hills running up to heaven for light         Through woods that half-way ran, As if the wild earth mimicked right         The wilder heart of man: Only it shall be greener far And gladder than hearts ever are. IV. More like, perhaps, that mountain piece         Of Dante's paradise, Disrupt to an hundred hills like these,         In falling from the skies; Bringing within it, all the roots Of heavenly trees and flowers and fruits: V. For—saving where the grey rocks strike         Their javelins up the azure, Or where deep fissures miser-like         Hoard up some fountain treasure, (And e'en in them, stoop down and hear, Leaf sounds with water in your ear,—) VI. The place is all awave with trees,         Limes, myrtles purple-beaded, Acacias having drunk the lees         Of the night-dew, faint-headed, And wan grey olive-woods which seem The fittest foliage for a dream. VII. Trees, trees on all sides! they combine         Their plumy shades to throw, Through whose clear fruit and blossom fine         Whene'er the sun may go, The ground beneath he deeply stains, As passing through cathedral panes. VIII. But little needs this earth of ours         That shining from above her, When many Pleiades of flowers         (Not one lost) star her over, The rays of their unnumbered hues Being all refracted by the dews. IX. Wide-petalled plants that boldly drink         The Amreeta of the sky, Shut bells that dull with rapture sink,         And lolling buds, half shy; I cannot count them, but between Is room for grass and mosses green, X. And brooks, that glass in different strengths         All colours in disorder, Or, gathering up their silver lengths         Beside their winding border, Sleep, haunted through the slumber hidden, By lilies white as dreams in Eden. XI. Nor think each archèd tree with each         Too closely interlaces To admit of vistas out of reach,         And broad moon-lighted places Upon whose sward the antlered deer May view their double image clear. XII. For all this island's creature-full,         (Kept happy not by halves) Mild cows, that at the vine-wreaths pull,         Then low back at their calves With tender lowings, to approve The warm mouths milking them for love. XIII. Free gamesome horses, antelopes,         And harmless leaping leopards, And buffaloes upon the slopes,         And sheep unruled by shepherds: Hares, lizards, hedgehogs, badgers, mice, Snakes, squirrels, frogs, and butterflies. XIV. And birds that live there in a crowd,         Horned owls, rapt nightingales, Larks bold with heaven, and peacocks proud,         Self-sphered in those grand tails; All creatures glad and safe, I deem No guns nor springes in my dream! XV. The island's edges are a-wing         With trees that overbranch The sea with song-birds welcoming         The curlews to green change; And doves from half-closed lids espy The red and purple fish go by. XVI. One dove is answering in trust         The water every minute, Thinking so soft a murmur must         Have her mate's cooing in it: So softly doth earth's beauty round Infuse itself in ocean's sound. XVII. My sanguine soul bounds forwarder         To meet the bounding waves; Beside them straightway I repair,         To live within the caves: And near me two or three may dwell Whom dreams fantastic please as well. XVIII. Long winding caverns, glittering far         Into a crystal distance! Through clefts of which shall many a star         Shine clear without resistance, And carry down its rays the smell Of flowers above invisible. XIX. I said that two or three might choose         Their dwelling near mine own: Those who would change man's voice and use,         For Nature's way and tone— Man's veering heart and careless eyes, For Nature's steadfast sympathies. XX. Ourselves, to meet her faithfulness,         Shall play a faithful part; Her beautiful shall ne'er address         The monstrous at our heart: Her musical shall ever touch Something within us also such. XXI. Yet shall she not our mistress live,         As doth the moon of ocean, Though gently as the moon she give         Our thoughts a light and motion: More like a harp of many lays, Moving its master while he plays. XXII. No sod in all that island doth         Yawn open for the dead; No wind hath borne a traitor's oath;         No earth, a mourner's tread; We cannot say by stream or shade, "I suffered here,—was here betrayed." XXIII. Our only "farewell" we shall laugh         To shifting cloud or hour, And use our only epitaph         To some bud turned a flower: Our only tears shall serve to prove Excess in pleasure or in love. XXIV. Our fancies shall their plumage catch         From fairest island-birds, Whose eggs let young ones out at hatch,         Born singing! then our words Unconsciously shall take the dyes Of those prodigious fantasies. XXV. Yea, soon, no consonant unsmooth         Our smile-tuned lips shall reach; Sounds sweet as Hellas spake in youth         Shall glide into our speech: (What music, certes, can you find As soft as voices which are kind?) XXVI. And often, by the joy without         And in us, overcome, We, through our musing, shall let float         Such poems,—sitting dumb,— As Pindar might have writ if he Had tended sheep in Arcady; XXVII. Or Æschylus—the pleasant fields         He died in, longer knowing; Or Homer, had men's sins and shields         Been lost in Meles flowing; Or Poet Plato, had the undim Unsetting Godlight broke on him. XXVIII. Choose me the cave most worthy choice,         To make a place for prayer, And I will choose a praying voice         To pour our spirits there: How silverly the echoes run! Thy will be done,—thy will be done. XXIX. Gently yet strangely uttered words!         They lift me from my dream; The island fadeth with its swards         That did no more than seem: The streams are dry, no sun could find— The fruits are fallen, without wind. XXX. So oft the doing of God's will         Our foolish wills undoeth! And yet what idle dream breaks ill,         Which morning-light subdueth? And who would murmur and misdoubt, When God's great sunrise finds him out?