The Enviable Isles

by Herman Melville

　　

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From "Rammon."Through storms you reach them and from storms are free. Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue,But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew.But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hillsA dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills— On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon,Slow-swaying palms salute love's cypress tree Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croonA song to lull all sorrow and all glee.Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here. Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lieDimpling in dream—unconscious slumberers mere, While billows endless round the beaches die.

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