Beyond that wall, whose ancient masonry

Reached almost to the sky in moss-thick towers,

There would be terraced gardens, rich with flowers,

And flutter of bird and butterfly and bee.

There would be walks, and bridges arching over

Warm lotos-pools reflecting temple eaves,

And cherry-trees with delicate boughs and leaves

Against a pink sky where the herons hover.

All would be there, for had not old dreams flung

Open the gate to that stone-lanterned maze

Where drowsy streams spin out their winding ways,

Trailed by green vines from bending branches hung?

I hurried – but when the wall rose, grim and great,

I found there was no longer any gate.