Often I come to my windows in the night and gaze out upon that far-flung tracery of stars across the valley, rivalling the skies above, as though ten thousand meteors had fallen from the heavens and still blazed where they lay upon the earth. And through my open casement come the faint and perfumed breezes, bringing their subtropical warmth as they blow across the valley; and I hear, faint and afar, the sounds of music mingling with the rustling of the trees.
Others may plan; others may build fairer cities in the sun: but I have given my best; and Asgard almost consoles me for the loss of that Fata Morgana which I shall never see.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Pronounce Di-ay´-zō-tans´.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.