262
The lonesome for they know not What-
The Eastern Exiles-be-
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday-
And ever since-the purple Moat
They strive to climb-in vain-
As Birds-that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain-
The Blessed Ether-taught them-
Some Transatlantic Morn-
When Heaven-was too common-to miss-
Too sure-to dote upon!
