Flowers the mainland rarely knows;
"When boats to their morning fishing go,
And, held to the wind and slanting low,
Whitening and darkening, the small sails show,—
"Then is that lonely island fair;
And the pale health-seeker findeth there
The wine of life in its pleasant air.
"No greener valleys the sun invite,
On smoother beaches no sea-birds light,
No blue waves shatter to foam more white!"