MY NATIVE LAND.
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MY NATIVE LAND.
IT chanced to me upon a time to sail
Across the Southern Ocean to and fro;
And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale
Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go.
And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep,
Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone,
Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep,
And left us yearning still for lands unknown.
And when we found one,—for 'tis soon to find
In thousand-isled Cathay another isle,—
For one short noon its treasures filled the mind.
And then again we yearned, and ceased to smile.
And so it was, from isle to isle we passed.
Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips;
