An Invitation

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Come where the white waves dance along the shore
  Of some lone isle, lost in the unknown seas;
  Whose golden sands by mortal foot before
  Were never printed,—where the fragrant breeze,
  That never swept o'er land or flood that man
  Could call his own, th' unearthly breeze shall fan
  Our mingled tresses with its odorous sighs;
  Where the eternal heaven's blue sunny eyes
  Did ne'er look down on human shapes of earth,
  Or aught of mortal mould and death-doomed birth:
  Come there with me; and when we are alone
  In that enchanted desert, where the tone
  Of earthly voice, or language, yet did ne'er
  With its strange music startle the still air,
  When clasped in thy upholding arms I stand,
  Upon that bright world's coral-cradled strand,
  When I can hide my face upon thy breast,
  While thy heart answers mine together pressed,
  Then fold me closer, bend thy head above me,
  Listen—and I will thee how I love thee.

© Frances Anne Kemble