Coelum non animum mutant Qui trans mare currunt. —Horace.

Sail forth across the jade-green sea and view the glades our fathers trod, Their rolling lawns of deathless sod, their hoary castles dear to me. Catch the pale vision of the past, the sound of stealthy slippered feet; Rest on the moss-grown garden seat and find a lover’s shadow cast. Creep into Catherine cubicle and sense her icy presence there; Her figure bent and drawn with care as Alchemist o’er crucible. Look down the waving lane of trees that lines the speckled road’s approach Where glides the flashing golden coach with gay plumes trembling in the breeze. Gaze up at Longeais from the moat and feel the ages slip away Until its grey walls seem at bay before the host in armored coat. Go to each ancient place above and bless it with your noiseless tread; Your presence there should stir the dead with tremulous warm thoughts of love. Leave here for me your image fair, graven in crystal carved by time, Untarnished as a star sublime, unchanging as the love I bear. God speed you under other skies, drink deep of Europe’s scented charm, But keep the gesture of your arm, the wistful wonder in your eyes.