Yon strange blue city crowns a scarped steep <br />No mortal foot hath bloodlessly essayed: <br />Dreams and illusions beacon from its keep. <br />But at the gate an Angel bares his blade; <br />And tales are told of those who thought to gain <br />At dawn its ramparts; but when evening fell <br />Far off they saw each fading pinnacle <br />Lit with wild lightnings from the heaven of pain; <br />Yet there two souls, whom life’s perversities <br />Had mocked with want in plenty, tears in mirth, <br />Might meet in dreams, ungarmented of earth, <br />And drain Joy’s awful chalice to the lees.<br /><br />Edith Wharton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mona-lisa-17/
