From the Hills of Dream

Across the silent stream

Where the slumber-shadows go,

From the dim blue Hills of Dream

I have heard the west wind blow.

Who hath seen that fragrant land,

Who hath seen that unscanned west?

Only the listless hand

And the unpulsing breast.

But when the west wind blows

I see moon-lances gleam

Where the Host of Faerie flows

Athwart the Hills of Dream.

And a strange song I have heard

By a shadowy stream,

And the singing of a snow-white bird

On the Hills of Dream.