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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

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