Beyond the sea, I know not where,
There is a town called Viverols;
I know not if 'tis near or far,
I know not what its features are,
I only know 'tis Viverols.

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 Viverols;
I know not if prosperity
Has robbed its life of poesy;
That could not be in Viverols,
They would not call it Viverols.

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 Viverols
A place of gaudy pomp and show,
A " Grand Etablissement des Eaux, "
Where to restore their withered lives
The roues 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 Viverols;
There 's life and cheer in Viverols!

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 Viverols!
No grass be greener anywhere,
No bluer sky nor softer air
Than we should find in Viverols.

Love, we may wander far or near,
The sun shines bright o'er Viverols;
Green is the grass, the skies are clear;
No clouds obscure our pathway, dear;
Where love is, there is Viverols, —
There is no other Viverols.