The Tamarisk Hedge

I know that there are slumbrous woods beyond

On islands of white marges, where the tide

Floods upward, blue as a kingfisher's wing,

And sails, like wishes of a reverie,

Shine to the wind that fills them, far inland.

I know that there are harbours in the hills

Amid those verdurous, smooth bosom-folds,

Found by the idle sunbeams for their sleep.

But it contents me to see nothing more

Than liquid blue of the invisible wind

Flowing and glowing through the tamarisk

That waves upon this wild deserted bank;

And I lie warm on the short, sandy turf

Lulled in bright noise of the returning sea.

O plumy Tamarisk, tossing your green hair

In the wind's radient stream, as if I had lent

Your fibres all my senses of delight,

Why does it so enchant me to have nothing,

And drink long draughts of sky where nothing is,

And tremble to the glory of an hour

That passes out of nothing into nothing?