THE MASTER OF SHADOWS

Into the western waters

Slow sinks the sunset light,

And the voice of the Wind of Shadows

Calls to my heart to-night —

Calls from the magic countries,

The lost and the lovely lands

Where stands the Master of Shadows,

Holding the dreams in his hands.

All the dreams of the ages

Gather around him there,

Visions of things forgotten

And of things that never were.

Birds in the swaying woodlands,

Creatures furry and small,

Turn to the Master of Shadows

And he gives of his dreams to all.

Lo! I am worn and weary,

Sick of the garish light;

Blow, thou Wind of the Shadows,

Into my heart to-night.

Out of the magic countries,

The lost and the lovely lands,

Where he, the Master of Shadows,

Waits, with the dreams in his hands.