Deem ye the veiling vision will abide—

The marvel, and the glamour, and the dream,

Which lies in light upon the barren world?

The wings of Phoenix towering to the sun,

Nor opals, nor the morning foam, may hold

The hueful flame that as from faery moons

Is mirrored on the sand; where many a time,

From fields that hem with golden asphodel

A river like a dragon coiled in light,

Rise to the noon the hovering minarets

And soaring walls of cities Ilion-like,

Till the dim winds are hung with palaces

Of orient madreperl.

Like sunset on a land of old romance,—

The splendour fails, and leaves the traveller

In endless deserts flaming to the day.