John Wilson

In Wilson's white-winged bark to sail away
To some green island in the Indian sea,
Where life is one long summer holiday,
And Nature keeps eternal jubilee:
Where Woman blooms in native purity,
And fairest flowers and fruits spontaneously smile;
Where nothing toils beside the busy bee;
Where Care comes not, nor Falsehood's serpent vile,
To mar the perfect peace of that enchanted Isle.