VII

And down the scented heather-drowsy hills

The barefoot children wandered, hand in hand,

And paddled through the laughing silver rills

In quest of fairyland;

And in each little sunburnt hand a spray,

A purple fox-glove bell-branch lightly swung,

And Anwyl told Etain how, far away,

One day he wandered through the dreamland dells

And watched the moonlit fairies as they sung

And tolled the fox-glove bells;

And oh, how sweetly, sweetly to and fro

The fragrance of the music reeled and rung

Under the loaded boughs of starry May.

And God sighed in the sunset, and the sea

Grew quieter than the hills: the mystery

Of ocean, earth and sky was like a word

Uttered, but all unheard,

Uttered by every wave and cloud and leaf

With all the immortal glory of mortal grief;

And every wave that broke its heart of gold

In music on the rainbow-dazzled shore

Seemed telling, strangely telling, evermore

A story that must still remain untold.

Oh, Once upon a time, and o'er and o'er

As aye the Happy ever after came

The enchanted waves lavished their faery lore

And tossed a foam-bow and a rosy flame

Around the whispers of the creaming foam,

Till the old rapture with the new sweet name

Through all the old romance began to roam,

And Anwyl, gazing out across the sea,

Dreamed that he heard the distance whisper “Come.”

“Etain,” he murmured softly and wistfully,

With the soul's wakening wonder in his eyes,

“Is it not strange to think that there can be

“No end for ever and ever to those skies,

No shore beyond, or if there be a shore

Still without end the world beyond it lies;

“Think; think, Etain;” and all his faery lore

Mixed with the faith that brought all gods to birth

And sees new heavens transcend for evermore

The poor impossibilities of earth;

But Etain only laughed: the world to her

Was one sweet smile of very present mirth;

Its flowers were only flowers, common or rare;

Her soul was like a little garden closed

By rose-clad walls, a place of southern air

Islanded from the Mystery that reposed

Its vast and brooding wings on that abyss

Through which like little clouds that dreamed and dozed

The thoughts of Anwyl wandered toward some bliss

Unknown, unfathomed, far, how far away,

Where God has gathered all the eternities

Into strange heavens, beyond the night and day.