Broceliande
Broceliande! in the perilous beauty of silence and
menacing shade,
Thou art set on the shores of the sea down the haze of
horizons untravelled, unscanned.
Untroubled, untouched with the woes of this world are
the moon-marshalled hosts that invade
Broceliande.
Only at dusk, when lavender clouds in the orient twilight
disband,
Vanishing where all the blue afternoon they have drifted
in solemn parade,
Sometimes a whisper comes down on the wind from the
valleys of Fairyland—
Sometimes an echo most mournful and faint like the
horn of a huntsman strayed,
Faint and forlorn, half drowned in the murmur of foliage
fitfully fanned,
Breathes in a burden of nameless regret till I startle,
disturbed and affrayed:
Broceliande—
Broceliande—
Broceliande. . . .
menacing shade,
Thou art set on the shores of the sea down the haze of
horizons untravelled, unscanned.
Untroubled, untouched with the woes of this world are
the moon-marshalled hosts that invade
Broceliande.
Only at dusk, when lavender clouds in the orient twilight
disband,
Vanishing where all the blue afternoon they have drifted
in solemn parade,
Sometimes a whisper comes down on the wind from the
valleys of Fairyland—
Sometimes an echo most mournful and faint like the
horn of a huntsman strayed,
Faint and forlorn, half drowned in the murmur of foliage
fitfully fanned,
Breathes in a burden of nameless regret till I startle,
disturbed and affrayed:
Broceliande—
Broceliande—
Broceliande. . . .
share this page
