Landfall at dawn, and Madeira rose from the sea, Summited by the sun, a miracle that poured Soft dream-gold down shadowy slopes And dark ravines still sleeping, To the white surf breaking Against barbaric shores. O the lift of the heart, when islands drift from the sea, thus, After long days of believing there is no land in the world. Who, from a vessel's bow, Beholds them is a Columbus, Crying 'San Salvador!' And sinking glad to his knees. |