Viverols

Beyond the sea, I know not where, There is a town called Vivérols; I know not if ’t is near or far, I know not what its features are, I only know ’t is Vivérols. I know not if its ancient walls By vine and moss be overgrown; I know not if the night-owl calls From feudal battlements of stone, Inhabited by him alone. I know not if mid meadow-lands Knee-deep in corn stands Vivérols; I know not if prosperity Has robbed its life of poesy; That could not be in Vivérols, They would not call it Vivérols. Perchance upon its terraced heights The grapes grow purple in the sun; Or down its wild untrodden crags, Its broken cliffs and frost-bit jags, The mountain brooks unfettered run. I cannot fancy Vivérols A place of gaudy pomp and show, A “Grand Etablissement des Eaux,” Where to restore their withered lives The roués of the city go. Nor yet a place where Poverty No ray of happiness lets in; Where wanders hopeless beggary Mid scenes of sorrow, want, and sin. That could not be in Vivérols; There ’s life and cheer in Vivérols! Perchance among the clouds it lies, Mid vapors out from Dreamland blown; Built up from vague remembrances, That never yet had form in stone,— Its castles built of cloud alone. I only know, should thou and I Through its old walls of crumbling stone Together wander all alone, No spot on earth could be more fair Than ivy-covered Vivérols! No grass be greener anywhere, No bluer sky nor softer air Than we should find in Vivérols. Love, we may wander far or near, The sun shines bright o’er Vivérols; Green is the grass, the skies are clear; No clouds obscure our pathway, dear; Where love is, there is Vivérols,— There is no other Vivérols.