To ports of balm through isles of
The gentle airs are leading us;
To curtained calm and tents of dusk,
The wood-wild things unheeding
Will share their hoards of hardihood,
Cool dew and roots of fern for food,
Frail berries full of the sun's blood.
To planets bland with dales of dreamA tranquil life is leading us,
We shall land from the languid stream,
The musing shades, unheeding us,
Will share their veils of angelhood,
Thoughts that are tranced with mystic food,
Still broodings tinct with a seraph's blood.
