By George Sterling

O paths of stone, whereon the weary stray
    From toil to toil, from sin to tawdry sin,
    Farewell awhile! The silences begin
To call me to my kingdom far away.
There sings the lark to welcome back the day,
    And there the poppies in the moonlight thin
    Invite to dream, and there the pine-boughs win
A fitful music from the wind's delay.

Farewell! I hasten to the sapphire South,
    There to be lonely till my goddess come
To blind me with the kisses of her mouth;
        And I shall wander where the cypress broods,
    And listen as the bees of Carmel hum—
        A faun in sacred solitudes.

Written in Pajaro.

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