Drips the soaking rain,
Where the tumbling surf,
Relieved he many a racking pain,
Sentinel the ending line,
Waits the rising sign,
Anticipate a promised bliss,
And the slipping sea,
And the wilted thyme,
But a surrounding atmosphere, whereby
And the softly tinted cheek,
And the tenderly rocking mountain
Mark the nicely rounded paunch
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
When first the wandering eye
Far away the bounding prey
And everywhere the trembling air
And at last the crowning deed
And far away the spreading farms
Once again the twisted branches
Than ever yet the wondering voyager
Then wherefore sully the entrusted gem
Settle once more this floating isle!
How soft the falling dew!
How beautiful the setting sun!
Where wail the lost forevermore.