The dotted cays, With their little trees, Lie all about on the crystal floor; Nothing but beauty— Far off is duty, Far off the folk of the busy shore. The mangroves stride In the coloured tide, With leafy crests that will soon be isles; And all is lonely— White sea-sand only, Angel-pure for untrodden miles. In sunny bays The young shark plays, Among the ripples and nets of light; And the conch-shell crawls Through the glimmering halls The coral builds for the Infinite. And every gem In His diadem, From flaming topaz to moon-hushed pearl, Glitters and glances In swaying dances Of waters adream like the eyes of a girl. The sea and the stars, And the ghostly bars Of the shoals all bright 'neath the feet of the moon; The night that glistens, And stops and listens To the half-heard beat of an endless tune. Here Solitude To itself doth brood, At the furthest verge of the reef-spilt foam; And the world's lone ends Are met as friends, And the homeless heart is at last at home.