Three years at sea have weathered me
and worn my cordage thin,
My Venery has caried me
and kept my madness in.
Until this morn sight island we—
an isolated land.
The bearing set for island lee
by breakwind wooded band.
And as the emerald leafy lot
draws close a vivid clear,
my palate waters of a spot
where winds can cause no fear.
To moor my boat and make a bed
upon her tranquil shore;
to shake the rolling from my head
and slackened sails ignore.
I'll stroke a slow and savored swim
then relish on my knees;
and listen to the lilac hymn—
a sweetened island breeze.