Down the strait vistas where a city street Fades in pale dust and vaporous distances,
Stained with far fumes the light grows less and less And the sky reddens round the day's retreat
Now out of orient chambers, cool and sweet,
Like ...
Dost see how unregarded now That piece of beauty passes
There was a time when I did vow To that alone; But mark the fate of faces;
The red and white works now no more on
Than if it could not charm, or I not see
Whether we write or speak or do but
We are ever unapparent
What we
Cannot be transfused into word or book