I have seen a beauteous isle Where the vine grows wild And flowers are as bright As the first morning light; A land where people smile And where love grows easy For life is known to be fragile And as fleeting as the daisy. I wrote my name on the isle Man has named the Lost Atlantis: I am one that waits in the aisle, A lost soul no one seems to miss; But there on a warm moonlit eve As I stood in a lane gazing At the stars, I saw a golden Eve And heard a voice gently calling. Was I dreaming? Was it a vision? On this blessed isle, all is possible! But it matters not if it were illusion For isn't love just as incredible? Her smile follows me to this day And though I'm still a lost soul And most likely to drown like Shelley I still yearn for the night I felt whole. Oh, my Lost Atlantis, of Youth long Past, is so much beauty in one's eyes Possible? Or is it like the siren's song Heard in the night as love lies Close to the heart as in a dream? Do we not all in the dusk of life Fall under the spell of Diana's gleam And moonstruck wish her for wife? Oh, fairest of isles and yet the darkest! Thy maidens love best and longest There dwells in them a sacred fire That turns the heart into Apollo's lyre. How can mortal wights be the same Once they've been touched by the flame Of poesy? Can a bird be taught not to fly Once it has flown and touched the sky? Claudio Wye November 2000
