Where man has conquered nature dies;
We shift some slender-growing pine
From out her own familiar skies

Where-under forests fall and rise,
To pots and gardens, then repine
That where man conquers nature dies.

The atmosphere that round her lies
Bears not the light that used to shine
From out her own familiar skies,

She is a stranger. So our eyes
Run o'er the world and seek a sign!
If where man conquers nature dies

What is our earthly paradise?
Will nature there withhold the wine
That from her own familiar skies

She used to pour? Do we devise
A garden earth and say, in fine,
Where man has conquered nature dies
From out her own familiar skies?