Poem by Herman Melville

The Enviable Isles

     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 hills
     A 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 croon
     A 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 lie
     Dimpling in dream—unconscious slumberers
         mere,
       While billows endless round the beaches die.

1. Old Counsel
2. The Night March
3. Lines Traced under an Image of Amor Threatening
4. To the Master of the Meteor
5. Far Off-Shore

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