How shall I know, unless I goTo Cairo and Cathay,Whether or not this blessed spotIs blest in every way?Now it may be, the flower for meIs this beneath my nose;How shall I tell, unless I smellThe Carthaginian rose?The fabric of my faithful loveNo power shall dim or ravelWhilst I stay here,—but oh, my dear,If I should ever travel!

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

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