THERE is an isle I know where we may go
in the evening, Over the sea's white mearings, through baronies of light ;
Waves brightly beckon us, the curragh's black heel dances Where that isle floats in sight.
There light is rustled by the grasshopper in his green kingdom— Little else stirs there, only birds or the flow'r-mating bee ; Summer -grows lazy there—it merely suckles one bramble That's reaped by a wave of the sea Surely it's on that isle we'll gather the airs of healing—. Sun juice to perish age, balms of the moon for pain—
Eras of gold are seen there, to there the sunset is climbing Down flights of yellow rain.
Listen then, gentle friend, if you will sail there with me, Slip from the earth's green moorings into the drowning light, Hailing a dribbled star ; and than on the Isle of Brightness We'll wake in a blaze of night.
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