"Whither away? Shall we sail or stay? Whither away," I said,
"Into the sunset's glory of gold and passion of rose-red?
Over the water changed to wine and into the sky we slip,
But never a fairer shore than this shall find our buoyant ship,
Not though by shadowy Arcady we drop the anchor at last,
And in the dusk our weary sails come rattling down the mast.
Into the dark steals off the bark: let us stay in our bridal June:
Whither away should lovers stray from the Island of Honeymoon?"
"O far away in the dying day, and farther away," she cried,
"Ere the glory of gold has faded yet or the passion of rose-red
died,
O far away from the happier present visit the happy past,
Though never shall our ghostly sails die down the shadowy mast:
For we will flit by the twilight land and name the places fair,
But set no foot on the shore," she cried, "nor drop the anchor
there:
But under the night with so swift a flight that the keel is singing
in tune,
Back, haste back on the starry track to the Island of Honeymoon!"