She speaks, musing.

O cities built by music! lyres of love Strung to a songful sea! did I but own One harp chord of one broken barbiton What had I budded for our life thereof?

In docile shadows under bluebell skies A home upon the poppied edge of eve, Beneath lone peaks the splendors never leave, In lemon orchards whence the egret flies.

Where pitying gray the pitiless eyes of Death Blight no slight bud unfostered, I have thought; Deep, lily-deep, pearl-pale daturas, fraught With dewy fragrance like an angel's breath.

Sleep in the days; the twilights tuned and tame Through mockbirds throating to attentive stars; Each morn outrivalling each in opal bars; Eves preaching beauty with rose-tongues of flame.

O country by the undiscovered sea! The dream infolds thee and the way is dim— With head not high, what if I follow him, Love—with the madness and the melody?