A Caribbean Fantasy

Sailing the Caribbean Main
In the latter days of Spain
Through amber deeps I could behold
Great galleons bright with sunken gold.
My boat, of quaintest mother-of-pearl,
Was steered by my brown Indian girl.
We saw ships with their rigging down
Go limping to Havanna Town,
Beaten and faint from English stour
In the red wane of Spain's last power, —
Ships under blue and purple sails
And weighted down with spicy bales.
I looked on them and — Love, — quoth I,
— What profits it to do and die? —
Better to dream with an Indian Girl
In a ship of pearl, on a sea of pearl. —
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