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.