THE ENCHANTED ISLAND

I remember — a breath, a breath

Blown thro’ the rosy gates of birth,

A morning freshness not of the earth

But cool and strange and lovely as death

In Paradise, in Paradise,

When, all to suffer the old sweet pain

Closing his immortal eyes

Wonder-wild an angel lies

With wings of rainbow-tinctured grain

Withering till — ah, wonder-wild,

Here on the dawning earth again

He wakes, a little child.