To the Not Impossible Him

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!

Edna St. Vincent Millay