To the Not Impossible Him

by


  How shall I know, unless I go
    To Cairo and Cathay,
  Whether or not this blessed spot
    Is blest in every way?
  Now it may be, the flower for me
    Is this beneath my nose;
  How shall I tell, unless I smell
    The Carthaginian rose?
  The fabric of my faithful love
    No power shall dim or ravel
  Whilst I stay here,—but oh, my dear,
    If I should ever travel!


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