Lit2Go

I

I’ve wandered quite a bit
  Far lands and countries o’er:
In gentle climes I’ve picked rare fruits;
  And dallied pleasing hours
By murm’ring brooks, I’ve dreamed far thought:
  And picked the fairest flowers:
Yet—
  There’s a land that always calls me
  —And that draws me more and more
Where the Oleander grows:
  —And the bright Poinsettia glows:—
And the trade-wind blows—
  On the coral-jewelled margin
    Of the biscayne Shore.

 
II

Far North where I was born
  Great mountains sun-ward soar.
And rushing rivers ceaseless roll
  Where leagues of fir-trees stand.
The snows of old upon those peaks
  Forever chill the land.
But—
  There’s a Shore I know—that draws me
  And that warms me all the more!—
Where the gumbo-limbo grows:—
  And the little lizards doze—
Where the trade-wind blows
  Through the palm-tufted curvings
    Of the Biscayne shore.

 
III

I’ve gazed in fearsome awe
  Where floods all mighty pour
To roaring depths. And I have seen
  Old Nature shift her winter screen,
And all the world that was so dead
  Flash forth in faery green.

Still—
  There’s a something always brings me
  To the Land of mystic lore:—
Where the Poinciana glows:—
  And the lotus flowers close—
Where the trade-wind blows
  O’er the silver-sprinkled ledges
    Of the Biscayne shore.

 
IV

In far lost lands I’ve heard
  The songs of sirens store.
O’er desert sands I’ve trailed in quest
  Of that which satisfies:—
Forgotten seas I’ve fruitless sailed:
  —’Neath flaming southern skies—

Till:
  ‘Last I found my quested mooring;
  And my search for e’er is o’er
Where the red hibiscus grows:
  —And the fragrant twilight glows—
Where the trade-wind blows
  O’er the opalescent shallows
    Of the Biscayne shore.

 
V

I’ve breathed: I’ve drank: I’ve dreamed:—
  Of gifts the Magi bore—
But in each spell I’ve felt the lack
  Of that which is the soul
Of inmost wealth: It’s satisfying core.
  Of dreams—my dearest goal
Lies—
  In th eLand whose beauty draws me
  Where my dreams fare wide no more:
Where the coral creeper glows:
  —’Midst the plumes the Fairy sows—
And the trade-wind blows
  O’er the coral-treasured ledges
    Of the Biscayne shore.

 
VI

Of heav’n I’ve had a glimpse:
  —(Not Revelations lore)—
But I have mused beneath the palms,
  Through fragrant-falling haze:
That God could make right here a heaven
By only willing endless days.
  For—
  With eternity for living,
  Who could dream of asking more!
Where the phosphorescence flows:
  —And the heart small sorrow knows—
And the trade-wind blows
  On the golden-fruited islands
    —Of the Biscayne shore.