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.