Once in Bermuda, where the hibiscus
And oleanders burn down to the sea,
I saw the wraith of something that was strange
And fragile as young love awakening.
Tropic and tender as an oasis
Sought in some parched Sahara of the mind
Was this shy, fleeting presence—and as cool
As phantom fingers on a fevered brow.
It was a breath upon a mirror blown,
A bubble on an ocean—and a sigh
Hushed in an army bent on conquering.
Voicing the passion of a wandering breeze
Among the royal palms, in conclave there,
And blue as are Bermuda seas and skies
Shading to coral forests, it appeared,
Then vanished, reappeared, and in the air
Occultly cast reflections and became
A rainbow such as fades out in the eyes
Of those who see themselves as they are seen. . .
And it was something more to guess than tell;
As of a woman laying bare her soul.