I, as the Wise Ones held of old,
Hold there's an Underworld to this;
And do not fear to be enrolled
In Death's kind metamorphosis.

More wonderful than China's halls
To Polo; more than all the West
That shone through the confining walls
When great Magellan made the quest.

Enlarged and free, the wings of Rhyme
Cannot outreach its purple air;
The generations of all Time
And all the lovely Dead are there.