In what pearl-paven mossy cave 
By what green sea 
Art thou reclining, virgin of the wave, 
In realms more full of splendid mystery 
Than that strong northern flood whence came 
The rise and fall of music in thy name -- 
Thy waiting name, Oithona! 

The magic of the sea's own change 
In depth and height, 
From where the eternal order'd billows range 
To unknown regions of sleep-weary night, 
Fills, like a wonder-waking spell 
Whispered by lips of some lone-murmuring shell, 
Thy dreaming soul, Oithona. 

In gladness of thy reverie 
What gracious form 
Will fly the errand of our love to thee, 
By ways with winged messengers aswarm 
Through dawn of opalescent skies, 
To say the time is come and bid thee rise 
And be our child, Oithona?