The Unknown City

There lies a city inaccessible, Where the dead dreamers dwell.

Abrupt and blue, with many a high ravine And soaring bridge half seen. With many an iris cloud that comes and goes Over the ancient snows, The imminent hills environ it, and hold Its portals from of old, That grief invade not, weariness, nor war, Nor anguish evermore.

White-walled and jettied on the peacock tide, With domes and towers enskied, Its battlements and balconies one sheen Of ever-living green, It hears the happy dreamers turning home Slow-oared across the foam.

Cool are its streets with waters musical And fountains' shadowy fall. With orange and anemone and rose, And every flower that blows Of magic scent or unimagined dye, Its gardens shine and sigh. Its chambers, memoried with old romance And faëry circumstance,-- From any window love may lean some time For love that dares to climb.

This is that city babe and seer divined With pure, believing mind. This is the home of unachieved emprize. Here, here the visioned eyes Of them that dream past any power to do, Wake to the dream come true. Here the high failure, not the level fame, Attests the spirit's aim. Here is fulfilled each hope that soared and sought Beyond the bournes of thought.

The obdurate marble yields; the canvas glows; Perfect the column grows; The chorded cadence art could ne'er attain Crowns the imperfect strain; And the great song that seemed to die unsung Triumphs upon the tongue.