In loathsome amorous arms some still lie.
Entombed, they curse the sun—Time’s cruel dial
Above that vault—the South Sea Leper Isle.
Hark to the midnight scream! Then silence after
Of desolation voiced by waves that leap
By sepulchres—damp huts of sheltered rafter,
Where dreaming dead men shout thro’ shroudless sleep!
As windy trees wail dreams of long-dead laughter;
As o’er each wattle hut the night winds sweep,
And dying eyes watch ships out o’er the night,