Myths tell of walls and cities that arose

To melody. But I would build with tone,

Had I that harp, a world for us alone,

A world of love, and joy, and deep repose.

A land of lavender light, of blue-bell skies;

Pale peaks that rise against the gold of eve;

And on one height, the splendors never leave,

Our castled home o'er which the wild swan flies.

There, pitiless, the ruined hand of death

Should never reach. No bud, no thing should fade;

All should be perfect, pure, and unafraid;

And life serener than an angel's breath.

The days should move to music; wildly tame

The nights should move to music and the stars;

[Pg 27]

And morn and evening in their opal cars,

Like heralds, banner God's eternal name.

O world! O life! desired and to be!

How shall we reach thee?—dark the way and dim.

—Give me your hand, love, let us follow him,

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