Rose to remembrance:  how that on the sea. 
Sat somewhere a Great Mist which no sun’s heat
Could melt, nor wind make wander from, its seat. 
So great it was, the fastest ship would need
Seven days to compass it, with all her speed. 
And they of deepest lore and wisest wit
Deemed that an island in the midst of it
Bloomed like a rosebush ring’d with snows, a place
Of pleasance, folded in that white embrace
And chill.  But never yet would pilot steer
Into the fog that wrapped it round, for fear
Of running blindfold in that sightless mist
On sunken reefs whereof no mariner wist: 
And so from all the world this happy isle
Lay hidden.  Thus the queen, long since; and while
He marvelled if the mist before his ken
Could be the same she told of—­even then,
Hardly a furlong ‘fore the pinnace’ prow
It lay:  and now ’twas hard at hand:  and now
The boat had swept into the folds of it! 
But all that vision of white darkness—­lit
By the full splendour of the emerald stone
That from the forepart of the pinnace shone—­
Melted around her, as in sunder cleft
By that strong spirit of light; and there was left
A wandering space, behind her and before,
Of radiance, roofed and walled with mist, the floor
A liquid pavement large.  And so she passed
Through twilight immemorial, and at last
Issued upon the other side, where lay
The land no mortal knew before that day.

There wilding orchards faced the beach, and bare
All manner of delicious fruit and rare,
Such as in gardens of kings’ palaces
Trembles upon the sultry-scented trees,
The soul of many sunbeams at its core. 
Well-pleased the wanderer landed on this shore,
Beholding all its pleasantness, how sweet
And soft, to the tired soul, to the tired feet. 
And so he sat him down beneath the boughs,
And there a low wind seemed to drone and drowse
Among the leaves as it were gone astray
And like to faint forwearied by the way;
Till the persistence of the sound begat
An heaviness within him as he sat: 
So when Sleep chanced to come that way, he found
A captive not unwilling to be bound,
And on his body those fine fetters put
Wherewith he bindeth mortals hand and foot.

When the tired sleeper oped again his eyes,
’Twas early morn, and he beheld the skies
Glowing from those deep hours of rest and dew
Wherein all creatures do themselves renew. 
The laughing leaves blink’d in the sun, throughout
Those dewy realms of orchard thereabout;
But green fields lay beyond, and farther still,
Betwixt them and the sun, a great high hill
Kept these in shadow, and the brighter made
The fruitlands look for all that neighbouring shade. 
And he the solitary man uprose,
His face toward the mountain beyond those
Fair fields not yet acquainted with the sun;
And crossed the fields, and climbed the hill, and