I know a little Druid wood
Where I would slumber if I could
And have the murmuring of the stream
To mingle with a midnight dream,
And have the holy hazel trees
To play above me in the breeze,
And smell the thorny eglantine;
For there the white owls all night long
In the scented gloom divine
Hear the wild, strange, tuneless song
Of faerie voices, thin and high
As the bat's unearthly cry,
And the measure of their shoon
Dancing, dancing, under the moon,
Until, amid the pale of dawn
The wandering stars begin to swoon. . . .
Ah, leave the world and come away!
The windy folk are in the glade,
And men have seen their revels, laid
In secret on some flowery lawn
Underneath the beechen covers,
Kings of old, I've heard them say,
Here have found them faerie lovers
That charmed them out of life and kissed
Their lips with cold lips unafraid,
And such a spell around them made
That they have passed beyond the mist
And found the Country-under-wave. . . .
Kings of old, whom none could save!
It is well that there are palaces of peace
And discipline and dreaming and desire,
Lest we forget our heritage and cease
The Spirit's work-to hunger and aspire:
Lest we forget that we were born divine,
Now tangled in red battle's animal net,
Murder the work and lust the anodyne,
Pains of the beast 'gainst bestial solace set.
But this shall never be: to us remains
One city that has nothing of the beast,
That was not built for gross, material gains,
Sharp, wolfish power or empire's glutted feast.
We are not wholly brute. To us remains
A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams,
A place of visions and of loosening chains,
A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams.
She was not builded out of common stone
But out of all men's yearning and all prayer
That she might live, eternally our own,
The Spirit's stronghold-barred against despair.
All the things magicians do
Could be done by me and you
Freely, if we only knew.
Human children every day
Could play at games the faeries play
If they were but shown the way.
Every man a God would be
Laughing through eternity
If as God's his eyes could see.
All the wizardries of God—
Slaying matter with a nod,
Charming spirits with his rod,
With the singing of his voice
Making lonely lands rejoice,
Leaving us no will nor choice,
Drawing headlong me and you
As the piping Orpheus drew
Man and beast the mountains through,
By the sweetness of his horn
Calling us from lands forlorn
Nearer to the widening morn—
All that loveliness of power
Could be man's peculiar dower,
Even mine, this very hour;
We should reach the Hidden Land
And grow immortal out of hand,
If we could but understand!
We could revel day and night
In all power and all delight
If we learn to think aright.
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