It mounts athwart the windy hill Through sallow slopes of upland bare, And Fancy climbs with foot-fall still Its narrowing curves that end in air.
By day, a warmer-hearted blue Stoops softly to that topmost swell; Its thread-like windings seem a clue To gracious climes where all is well.
By night, far yonder, I surmise An ampler world than clips my ken, Where the great stars of happier skies Commingle nobler fates of men.
I look and long, then haste me home, Still master of my secret rare; Once tried, the path would end in Rome, But now it leads me everywhere.
Forever to the new it guides, From former good, old overmuch; What Nature for her poets hides, ‘ Tis wiser to divine than clutch.
The bird I list hath never come Within the scope of mortal ear; My prying step would make him dumb, And the fair tree, his shelter, sear.
Behind the hill, behind the sky, Behind my inmost thought, he sings; No feet avail; to hear it nigh, The song itself must lend the wings.
Sing on, sweet bird close hid, and raise Those angel stairways in my brain, That climb from these low-vaulted days To spacious sunshines far from pain.
Sing when thou wilt, enchantment fleet, I leave thy covert haunt untrod, And envy Science not her feat To make a twice-told tale of God.
They said the fairies tript no more, And long ago that Pan was dead; ‘ Twas but that fools preferred to bore Earth's rind inch-deep for truth instead.
Pan leaps and pipes all summer long, The fairies dance each full-mooned night, Would we but doff our lenses strong, And trust our wiser eyes’ delight.
City of Elf-land, just without Our seeing, marvel ever new, Glimpsed in fair weather, a sweet doubt Sketched-in, mirage-like, on the blue,
I build thee in yon sunset cloud, Whose edge allures to climb the height; I hear thy drowned bells, inly-loud, From still pools dusk with dreams of night.
Thy gates are shut to hardiest will, Thy countersign of long-lost speech,— Those fountained courts, those chambers still, Fronting Time's far East, who shall reach?
I know not, and will never pry, But trust our human heart for all; Wonders that from the seeker fly Into an open sense may fall.
Hide in thine own soul, and surprise The password of the unwary elves; Seek it, thou canst not bribe their spies; Unsought, they whisper it themselves.
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