By a wall the stranger now calls his
Was born of old a particular kiss
Without forethought in its genesis;
Which in a trice took wing on the air
And where that spot is nothing shows:
There ivy calmly grows
And no one knows
What a birth was there!

That kiss is gone where none can tell –
Not even those who felt its spell:
It cannot have died; that know we well
Somewhere it pursues its flight
One of a long procession of sounds
Travelling aethereal rounds
Far from earth’s bounds
In the infinite