 | The Errors of Ecstasie |  |
Round the stem of a sleeping flower,
Whilst the voice of the night was still,
Sat a synod of wondrous power,
On the blades of a grassy hill.
Whilst the voice of the night was still,
Sat a synod of wondrous power,
On the blades of a grassy hill.
There were fays of the river and fell,
There were elves of the wood and glen,
There were spirits of the grot and cell,
There were wraiths of the moor and fen.
There were elves of the wood and glen,
There were spirits of the grot and cell,
There were wraiths of the moor and fen.
The hymnal bands of the traceless tune,
Heard i' the bosom of the sky,
And the riders of the radiant lune,
On a down-beam, hither-borne, hie.
Heard i' the bosom of the sky,
And the riders of the radiant lune,
On a down-beam, hither-borne, hie.
70
Some piped on tubes of invisible span,
Some wept o'er th'inaudible lyre,
And ever as the melody ran,
Rung the bells of the heav'nly quire.
Some wept o'er th'inaudible lyre,
And ever as the melody ran,
Rung the bells of the heav'nly quire.
And I heard down the willowy bourne,
Like th'echo of a broken dream,
A chant; as a wind-shook reed might mourn,
Or the song of a running stream.
Like th'echo of a broken dream,
A chant; as a wind-shook reed might mourn,
Or the song of a running stream.
| The Errors of Ecstasie | |