In foreign land of towering pines
And hammocks, mangrove-torn
A dark-filled night reluctantly
Bequeaths a pale dawn
Last night I dreamt of rolling waves,
Of summer sun and turquoise seas,
Of tapered fields and bracing winds,
Of gentle hills and autumn trees.
As time begins to take its toll
Upon the wearied day
So starts the silent spectacle
Of glittering, lighted play.
In cloudless sky and shadeless plain,
In dusty waste and yellow sea –
Where burning heat untempered reigns;
Where wilderness itself runs free.