Synopsis

There is a land where no resounding street With babel of electric-garish night And whir of endless wheels has put to flight The liberty of leisure. Sandaled feet And naked soles that feel the friendly dust Go easily along the never measured miles. A land at which the patron tourist smiles Because of gods in whom those people trust (He boasting One and trusting not at all); A land where lightning is the lover's boon, And honey oozing from an amber moon Illumines footing on forbidden wall; Where, 'stead of pursy jeweler's display, Parading peacocks brave the er-by, And swans like angels in an azure sky Wing swift and silent on unchallenged way.