Old scenes come back to his vision,
Again his ship’s canvases swell
In the harbor of gray St. Malo,
In the haven of fair Rochelle.
He sees the emparadised ocean
That he dared when his years were young,
The lagoons where his lateen-sail drifted
As the Southern Cross over it hung;
Acadie, the Richelieu’s waters,
The lakes through the midlands that rolled,