The lonesome for they know not
What –
The Eastern Exiles – be –
Who strayed beyond the
Amber line
Some madder Holiday –

And ever since – the
purple Moat
They strive to climb – in vain –
As Birds – that tumble from
the clouds
Do fumble at the strain –

The Blessed Ether – taught
them –
Some Transatlantic Morn –
When Heaven – was too
common – to miss –
Too sure – to dote opon!