There is an isle in an unfurrowed sea br That I wot of, whereon the whole year round br The apple-blossoms and the rosebuds be br In early blooming ; and a many sound br Of ten-stringed lute, and most mellifluous breath br Of silver flute, and mellow half-heard horn, br Making unmeasured music. Thither Death br Coming like Love, takes all things in the morn br Of tenderest life, and being a delicate god, br In his own garden takes each delicate thing br Unstained, unmellowed, immature, untrod, br Tremulous betwixt the summer and the spring : br The rosebud ere it come to be a rose, br The blossom ere it win to be a fruit, br The virginal snowdrop, and the dove that knows br Only one dove for lover ; all the loot br Of young soft things, and all the harvesting br Of unripe flowers. Never comes the moon br To matron fulness, here no child-bearing br Vexes desire, and the sun knows no noon. br But all the happy dwellers of that place br Are reckless children gotten on Delight br By Beauty that is thrall to Death ; no grace, br No natural sweet they lack, a chrysolite br Of perfect beauty each. No wisdom comes br To mar their early folly, no false laws br Man-made for man, no mouthing prudence numbs br Their green unthought, or gives their licence pause ; br Young animals, young flowers, they live and grow, br And die before their sweet emblossomed breath br Has learnt to sigh save like a lover's.