CORFU.
Oh, Lovely isle! that, like a child,
Art sleeping on the sea,
Amid whose hair the wind is wild,
And on whose cheek the sun has smiled,
As there it loved to be.
How fair thou art, how very fair,
A lone and lovely dream,
That sprung on the enchanted air,
A fairy likeness seems to wear,
A fairy world to seem,
Thou bringest to me a pleasant mood
Of fanciful delight:
To me thou art a solitude
Known only to the sea bird’s brood,
And to the stars at night.
I should so like to have thee mine,
Mine own—my very own,
The shadows of thy sweeping vine,
Wherein the scarlet creepers twine,
Broken by me alone.
I would not have a footstep trace
Thy solitary shore:
No human voice—no human face
Should trouble my sweet resting place
With memories of yore.
I would forget the wretched years
Passed in this world of ours,
Where weary cares and feverish fears,
Ending alike in bitter tears,
Darken the heavy hours.
48
