So let us seek the lands that the Gods love, The soil unsown, the isles of sumptuous store; Where fallow fields yield yearly fee of grain, And vines unpruned produce perennial bloom, And olive slips engender faithfully, And dark figs deck their trees; the cavernous oaks Bleed honey'd drops, and from high hills descend The nimble waters with melodious feet. PRELUDE TO A PHANTASY I will tell thee of Far-Away, of Far-Away, of Far-Away, I will tell thee of Far-Away The home of wandering dreams; For they come out of Far-Away To show us how to love and play, And when they've wandered for a day Must return, it seems. There's more than gold in Far-Away, in Far-Away, in Far-Away, There's more than gold in Far-Away, There's more than jewelled gleams. There's more than smiles in Far-Away, And coronals of laughter gay; There's crystal tears that bloom alway Beside forgotten streams. We'll gather gold from Far-Away, from Far-Away, from Far-Away, We'll gather gold from Far-Away, We'll steal the jewelled gleams. We'll hunt for smiles from Far-Away; Following laughter by the way, But we must for another day Leave the tears it seems. We'll find the road to Far-Away, to Far-Away, to Far-Away, We'll know the road to Far-Away By the feet of dreams; For they come out of Far-Away To love a little and to play, And when they've wandered for a day Must return it seems. RUNNING WATER Oh you who stand by the river in a gown of willow-green, I will make you an eager song of my heart to-night; I will find me a feather of a singing bird that has seen And touched the blue targe of the sky in its flight. I will make me a quill of it, and dip in my heart and write! I would not make you a threnody of sorrow that has been, For you are no more than an eager child who demand Magical tales of me, of lacquered Arabian sheen; I will speak very softly then with your hand In mine, a rose petal, the things that you understand. On the waxen and beautiful tablet that is your heart With a singing quill and the stain of my heart I will write; I will write with the simplest words and the simplest art All the splendors that glow so by night-- Of the Genie and the Bottle, and carpets of orient flight. And you who are more than a princess in your gown of yellow-green With your bird-like and trembling heart will understand All the luxurious sorrows and loves that have been Written on parchment at a king's demand-- And the simple words of them will flutter like birds in your hand. EPITHALAMION