Chapter I

The south wind rose at dusk of the winter day,
The warm breath of the western sea
Circling wrapped the isle with his cloak of cloud,
And it now reached even to me, at dusk of the day,
And moaned in the branches aloud:
While here and there, in patches of dark space,
A star shone forth from its heavenly place,
As a spark that is borne in the smoky chase;
And, looking up, there fell on my face--
Could it be drops of rain,
Soft as the wind, that fell on my face?
Gossamers light as threads of the summer dawn,
Sucked by the sun from midmost calms of the main,
From groves of coral islands secretly drawn,
O’er half the round of earth to be driven,
Now to fall on my face
In silky skeins spun from the mists of heaven.