Paul Hamilton Hayne

Song of the Naiads

GAY is our crystal floor,
Beneath the wave,
With strange gems flaming o'er
The Genii gave;
Sweet is the purple light
That haunts our happy sight,
And low and sweet the lulling strains that sigh
While the tides pause, and the faint zephyrs die.

Come! come! and seek us here,
In these cool deeps,
Where all is calmly fair,
And sorrow sleeps:
Thy burning brow shall rest,
Couched on a tender breast!
And, charmed to bliss, thy soul shall catch the gleams
Of mystic glories in Elysian dreams.

Come! ere the earth grows drear,
The tempests rave,
And the fast-failing year
Is nigh its grave:
Thy summer, too, is past;
Wouldst thou have peace at last?
O! here she dwells serenely in still caves,
And waits to woo thee underneath the waves.