To house our happy love
We long for an alcove
Curtained against the dawn in Ispahan,
Or some Algerian roof, whereon
At eventide to lie
And watch the fiery passing of the sky;
Till morning takes the last star, ere it set
Beyond the parapet.

And yet,
In this one little room, this homely place,
Have we not known enough of time and space?
With mouths together drawn,
Have we not prayed the night to linger on,
And found as much of glamor manifold,
Of happiness and pleasure,
As our four hands can measure
And our two hearts can hold?