Echo Dell

In a lone valley fair and far,

Where many sweet beguilements are,

I know a spot to lag and dream

Through damask morns and noons agleam;

For feet fall lightly on the fern

And twilight is a wondrous thing,

When the winds blow from some far bourne

Beyond the hill rims westering;

There echoes ring as if a throng

Of fairies hid from mortal eyes

Sent laughter back in spirit guise

And song as the pure soul of song;

Oh, 'tis a spot to love right well,

This lonely, witching Echo Dell!

Even the winds an echo know,

Elusive, faint, such as might blow

From wandering elf-land bugles far,

Beneath an occidental star;

And I have thought the blue bells lent

A subtle music to my ear,

And that the pale wild roses bent

To harken sounds I might not hear.

The tasselled fir trees softly croon

The fabled lore of elder days.

And through the shimmering eastern haze

Floats slowly up the mellow moon;

Come, heart o' mine, for love must dwell

In whispering, witching Echo Dell.