But I passed by the gate with a haughty glance,
And I scoffed at its beckoning greens.
Seven years more, and I find it again,
In my own private fairy wood.
Its shimmering colors, and sun-flecked hues
Call me, as naught else could.
The gates are translucent. There, tinted with rose,
Is the sapphire blue of a cloudless day ...
And I know there are reaped the harvests of love,
And I know there the children of happiness play.