BOOK I

_Out of the constant East the breeze Brings morning, like a wafted rose, Across the glimmering lagoon, And wakes the still palmetto trees, And blows adrift the phantom moon, That paler and still paler glows-- Up with the anchor! let's be going! O hoist the sail! and let's be going! Glory and glee Of the morning sea-- Ah! let's be going!_

Under our keel a glass of dreams Still fairer than the morning sky, A jewel shot with blue and gold, The swaying clearness streams and gleams, A crystal mountain smoothly rolled O'er magic gardens flowing by-- Over we go the sea-fans waving, Over the rainbow corals paving The deep-sea floor; No more, no more Would I seek the shore To make my grave in-- _O sea-fans waving_!

PIECES OF EIGHT