And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the shore was he. But a sudden blast blew us out and away through a boundless sea.
And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touched before, Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore, And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, and the long waterfalls Poured in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain walls, And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourished up beyond sight And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable height, And high in the heaven above it there flickered a songless lark, And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and the dog couldn't bark. And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a breath, It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death, And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to speak Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flittermouse shriek; And the men that were mighty of tongue, and could raise such a battle-cry That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand lances and die-- Oh, they to be dumb'd by the charm!--so fluster'd with anger were they They almost fell on each other; but, after, we sailed away.
And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of wild birds Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and words; Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices peal'd The steer fell down at the plough and the harvest died from the field, And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle went lame, And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke into flame; And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of my crew, Till they shouted along with the shouting, and seized one another and slew; But I drew them the one from the other; I saw that we could not stay, And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our wounded away.
And we came to the Isle of Flowers, their breath met us out on the seas, For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap of the breeze; And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark-blue clematis clung And starr'd with a myriad blossom, the long convolvulus hung; And the topmost spire of the mountain was lilies in lieu of snow, And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and the blush Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or thorn from the bush; And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without ever a tree Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea; And we roll'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith and kin, And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the triumph of Finn, Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle-day heat. Blossom, and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a fruit! And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle that was mute, And we tore up the flowers by the million and flung them in bight and bay. And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd away.