THE ELFIN ANGELUS

Are all the roads to Elfland closed, Are all the gates locked fast? And is there not some Fairy spot, Or deep, remote, and sylvan grot Left open where they passed? Ah! hark to what the twilight tells On silver bells, on silver bells! Say all the lovely, lonely spells, Swing free the doors again! Lo! from the open Hills we ride Through moss and moonlight, far and wide No rider rides in vain! We fight the old, victorious wars ’Neath silver stars, ’neath silver stars.

Though earth is weary with its scars, King Arthur, as it seems, Lies done to death in Avalon, Yet living eyes shall look upon The mercy of their dreams. Sure is each hope on vision stayed, Though long delayed, though long delayed. Those airy shapes toward which man prayed In Nature’s holy name, In shapes as light, as cool, as green As dancing leaves high boughs between, They put him not to shame. Sure help in all high wars men win From Fairy kin, from Fairy kin.

For, lo! the veil between is thin And easy cast aside, And when the call of man is heard The heart of all the Hills is stirred And all the doors swing wide. And man is succoured and reprieved, Though sorely grieved, though sorely grieved. For no man is by hope deceived Though spells may cast their lure, And though the aspect suffer change To things unearthly sweet, or strange, Or dreadful to endure. Each man shall win, unless he tire, His Heart’s Desire, his Heart’s Desire!

Those things toward which good men aspire Although the world condemn, And though they seem to die, apart, Safe hid in Nature’s holy heart, Grow great to comfort them. So peace from earth be with you still, Men of good will, men of good will.