Where white in the jungles
  Lay bones of the dead,
All night the wild lioness
  Howled as she fed:
The wind hot and sultry.
  And scarcely awake.
Through the dust of the desert-sand
  Crept like a snake.

But a beacon gleamed redly
  The blue rocks along,
Where a golden-tressed maiden
  Sat singing her son:
With her passionate warble
  The white sea-mist stirred,
And a boat to the desert shore
  Flew like a bird.

The deep burning blushes
  That cover her brow,
In a lover’s embraces
  Are all hidden now.
Wild rover of ocean,
  Proud scorner of storms,
Guard fondly the treasure
  Thus clasped in thine arms.

As the eyes of the pilgrim.
  Wherever he be,
Turn, down-trodden city
  Of beauty, to thee:
Turn thou, in life’s pauses
Of dimness and care.
To the sweet love of woman,
  That all things will dare!