The Indian to His Love

The island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn
A parrot sways upon a tree
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands
Murmuring softly lip to lip
Along the grass, along the sands
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands