We it seems, now find ourselves.
In the sphere of dreams and magic,
Do us honour, guide us well
So our journey will be quick,
Through the wide, deserted spaces!
Tree on tree now shift their places,
See how fast they open to us
And the cliffs bow down before us,
And their long and rocky noses,
How they whistle and blow, for us!
Through the stones, and through the grasses,
Stream and streamlet, downward, hurrying.
Is that rustling? Is that singing?
Do I hear sweet lovers’ sighing,
Heavenly days, is that their babbling?
What we hope for, what we love!
And the echoes, like the murmuring
Of those other days, are ringing.
‘Too-wit! Too-woo!’ sounding nearer,
Owl there, and jay, and plover,
Are they all awake above?
A salamander in the scrub, he’s
Long of leg, and fat of belly!
And every root like a snake,
Over sand and rock all bent,
Stretches with a strange intent,
To scare us, of us prisoners make:
From the gnarled and living mass,
Stretching towards those who pass,
Fibrous tentacles. And mice
In the moss and in the heather!
And all the fire-flies glowing,
Crushed together, tightly crowding,
In their tangled cohorts gather.
Tell me, are we standing still,
Or are we climbing up the hill?
All seems spinning like a mill,
Rocks and trees, with angry faces
Lights, now, wandering in spaces,
Massing: swelling at their will.