by Luis G. Dato
Often I strolled a fairyland which hours
With books of rhyme have summoned to my mind,
Often I roamed the region unconfined
Of dreams and wandered its strange woods bowers,
‘Mid hills I strayed where the mountain-flowers,
And found my Muse in pathways round Mayon,
Mayon which rising in a regal cone,
Scorns the base earth, against the heavens towers.
Often I dreamed of fairy hills with sighs,
Since youthful fancy vainly sought its rose,
I saw so early only to despise
The Beauty seen for Beauty no one knows,
Till once, your luminous, dark-asking eyes,
Lured all my wild phantasy in sweet surprise.
