Yon strange blue city crowns a scarped steep br No mortal foot hath bloodlessly essayed: br Dreams and illusions beacon from its keep. br But at the gate an Angel bares his blade; br And tales are told of those who thought to gain br At dawn its ramparts; but when evening fell br Far off they saw each fading pinnacle br Lit with wild lightnings from the heaven of pain; br Yet there two souls, whom life’s perversities br Had mocked with want in plenty, tears in mirth, br Might meet in dreams, ungarmented of earth, br And drain Joy’s awful chalice to the lees.