THE INFANTE

God wills, the man dreams, and the work is born.
God did that the earth should be all one,
That what the sea might join be now not torn.
He hallowed you. Foam-unveiling, you went.

And the white orle from isle to continent lit
Up, running on and on to the world's end,
And suddenly Earth was seen total, out
From the profound azure arising, round.

Who hallowed you created you Portuguese.
To the sea and to us you were His call.
The Sea grew whole, the Empire shook to pieces.
Lord, what lacks is to make whole Portugal!