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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