I should like to sail
with cargo of the dark-wreathed muses art
and come to that tree-shaded home
of sainted men…

– Simonides

You are my enchanted isle
my prospect of the southern sea,
light springs from you
like laughter from sweet water,
you feed me from dishes
of peerless vintage
among lustrous vines
in and out of season.
You call me in a voice like
swallows sailing in a summer sky
and make a place for me
among cool rocks for shelter
when the days eye burns,
when the night storms rage.
Your blooms open
in the ever-perfumed night
they will never pass away.