His words, the echoes of his mind,

Haunted the air:

... 'Tis gone like the roses of long ago:

Yet a dawn's impassioned thrill

Makes blush the blossom's virgin snow

Far on in a faery hill.

Two faces there in the glamour glow

In a place that is strangely still.

On the rim of the world is a ruined tower

Sky-poised above wide sea-foam,

Where a beautiful spirit waits hour by hour,

Far-eyed 'gainst a dawn like a phantom flower,

Till a ghostly lover comes home....

To leeward spread the freshening deep

Purple beneath a rosy gleam.

From a high, mist-engirdled steep

Thin anthems to the orient beam

Came faint as languid waves of sleep

That lap the lonely strands of dream.

We sank our anchor solemnly

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