White Slumber
Who has come to that farthest island Beyond White Gull Bay? There is a little tent among the birches Since yesterday. Those birches are the palest things Even in the morning sun! Among them the tent has suddenly blossomed, As the white flower of a night-blooming cereus, Silently, deep in some forest of sleep, Might have done. Who are they? What dreams must be theirs, Who have found such a magical camp unawares?
Katherine Hale