The poem
THERE in her old-world garden smiles A symbol of the world’s desire, Striving with quaint and lovely wiles To bind to earth the soul of fire.
And while I sit and listen there, The robe of Beauty falls away From universal things to where Its image dazzles for a day.
Away! the great life calls; I leave For Beauty, Beauty’s rarest flower; For Truth, the lips that ne’er deceive; For Love, I leave Love’s haunted bower.