Between the vision of the Tourist Board and the true Paradise lies the desert where Isaiah’s elations force a rose from the sand. The thirty-third canto
cores the dawn clouds with concentric radiance, the breadfruit opens its palms in praise of the bounty, bois-pain, tree...
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth. The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the...