I do not know if ever it existed - That lost world floating dimly on Time's stream - And yet I see it often, violet-misted, And shimmering at the back of some vague dream. There were strange towers and curious lapping rivers, Labyrinths of wonder, and low vaults of light, And bough-crossed skies of flame, like that which quivers Wistfully just before a winter's night.
Great moors led off to sedgy shores unpeopled, Where vast birds wheeled, while on a windswept hill There was a village, ancient and white-steepled, With evening chimes for which I listen still. I do not know what land it is - or dare Ask when or why I was, or will be, there.