Archibald MacLeish

The Geographer

There stands a tower on a hill
   Between the seven seas,
But how it's called I cannot tell
   Nor where it is.

There lives therein a lady there
   Whose breast is never still,
But if that land is far or near
   I cannot tell.

Her lips are very sweet to close,
   Her hands to overbear,
But whether they are true who knows
   Or where they are?

Her hair is soft to drowse you in,
   Her soft hair overflows:
You need not know the way of sin,
   The way it goes.