I seemed a waste of weary land,
Lone, grey, forsaken by the sea,
The keen sun smote my naked sand,
The sultry wind made sport of me.

Ah! pitiless the barren day,
The brooding horror of the night,
A fettered captive, prone I lay,
Fearing the darkness, and the light.

When summoned by the magic spell
Of love, who knew my loneliness,
A gleaming sunge of silver fell,
And garmented my nakedness.

O hour of spring, and welcome sea,
Filling the hollows, long forlorn,
How soon to thy sweet melody,
Were countless forms of beauty born.

Now mirrored in my tide I hold
The glories of chameleon day,
The fleeting scarlet, green and gold,
And sapphire, of the morn's array.

The mauve-veiled moon, vermilion eve,
The strange deep violet of night,
Till like an opal huge I heave,
Or lie at rest a chrysolite.

Oft lingering the virgin moon
Grants me her kiss so long denied,
While silver, moth-like stars are strewn,
And swaying on my ripples ride.

Yea, oft the Night, when clouds are spread,
Veiling the splendour of her eyes,
Droops o'er my flood her odorous head,
That I may listen to her sighs.