In the ear of the sweet white clover Low murmurs her lover, the bee; The sunbeam's myriad kisses Lie warm on the lips of the sea, And the glows at the touch, and sparkles In a quiver of ecstasy. To the rugged rocks of the headland The laughing billows creep With languid, caressing motions– A swift, coquettish leap– And then, like a frightened sea-bird, The waters backward sweep. Afar, on the distant landscape, The touch of the sea-fog lies, Blending in one soft shadow The waves and the arching skies, Hiding a land enchanted Whence mystical visions rise. The land of the lotus-eaters This happy island seems– Fanned by perpetual breezes, Brightened by fadeless beam– A place to lie forever In a rapture of blissful dreams