The Progress of Love (A Lyrical Symphony) VII

And down the scented heather-drowsy hillsThe barefoot children wandered, hand in hand,And paddled through the laughing silver rillsIn 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 dellsAnd watched the moonlit fairies as they sungAnd tolled the fox-glove bells;And oh, how sweetly, sweetly to and froThe fragrance of the music reeled and rungUnder the loaded boughs of starry May.

And God sighed in the sunset, and the seaGrew quieter than the hills: the mysteryOf ocean, earth and sky was like a wordUttered, but all unheard,Uttered by every wave and cloud and leafWith all the immortal glory of mortal grief;And every wave that broke its heart of goldIn music on the rainbow-dazzled shoreSeemed telling, strangely telling, evermoreA story that must still remain untold.

Oh, Once upon a time, and o'er and o'erAs aye the Happy ever after cameThe enchanted waves lavished their faery lore

And tossed a foam-bow and a rosy flameAround 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 shoreStill without end the world beyond it lies;

"Think; think, Etain;" and all his faery loreMixed with the faith that brought all gods to birthAnd sees new heavens transcend for evermore

The poor impossibilities of earth;But Etain only laughed: the world to herWas one sweet smile of very present mirth;

Its flowers were only flowers, common or rare;Her soul was like a little garden closedBy rose-clad walls, a place of southern airIslanded from the Mystery that reposedIts vast and brooding wings on that abyssThrough which like little clouds that dreamed and dozed

The thoughts of Anwyl wandered toward some blissUnknown, unfathomed, far, how far away,Where God has gathered all the eternitiesInto strange heavens, beyond the night and day.