Sark, fairer than aught in the world that the lit skies cover, <br />Laughs inly behind her cliffs, and the seafarers mark <br />As a shrine where the sunlight serves, though the blown clouds hover, <br /> Sark. <br /> <br />We mourn, for love of a song that outsang the lark, <br />That nought so lovely beholden of Sirmio's lover <br />Made glad in Propontis the flight of his Pontic bark. <br /> <br />Here earth lies lordly, triumphal as heaven is above her, <br />And splendid and strange as the sea that upbears as an ark, <br />As a sign for the rapture of storm-spent eyes to discover, <br /> Sark.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/insularum-ocelle/
