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To the Not Impossible Him by Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

How shall I know, unless I go
     To Cairo and Cathay,
Whether or not this blessèd 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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