The secret rose we vainly dream to find
Was blown in grey Atlantis long ago,
Or in old summers of the realms of snow
Its attar lulled the pole-arisen wind;
Or once its broad and breathless petals pined
In gardens of Persepolis, aglow
With fiery-sworded sunlight and the slow
Red waves of sand, invincible and blind.

On orient isles or isles hesperian,
Through mystic days ere mortal time began,
It flowered above the ever-flowering foam;
Or, legendless, in lands of yesteryear,
It flamed among the violets—near, how near
To unenchanted fields and hills of home !