The isles on which no man has ever trod,
Where ocean crashes not upon the beach
And flowers carpet not the untouched sod;
'Tis these that I so long have yearned to reach.
Their soaring peaks and plunging vales are blurred,
Transformed by forces that create their flow;
Within this flux their stuff is ever stirred,
Assuming shapes that men attempt to know.
And Oh! To have a galleon for to sail
Unto these many tantalizing lands,
Defying deftly the maelstroms and the gales
That try to wrest its guidance from my hands.
But though these isles, so very near they seem--
A man attains them only in a dream.