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!