Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,
Flash and loom greatly, all your marts among?”
Friends I will not cease hoping, though you weep.
Such things I see, and some of them shall come
Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-grey,
Though now our youths are strident, or are dumb.
Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town shall rise.
Naught can delay it. Though it may not be
Just as I dream, it comes at last, I know
With streets like channels of an incense-sea!