Far away — far away —

Far away — as far at least

Lies that valley as the day

Down within the golden East —

All things lovely — are not they

One and all, too far away?

 

It is called the valley Nis:

And a Syriac tale there is

Thereabout which Time hath said

Shall not be interpreted:

Something about Satan's dart

Something about angel wings —

Much about a broken heart —

All about unhappy things:

But “the valley Nis” at best

Means “the valley of unrest.”

 

Once it smil'd a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell,

Having gone unto the wars —

And the sly, mysterious stars,

With a visage full of meaning,

O’er th’ unguarded flowers were leaning,

Or the sun-ray dripp'd all red

Thro' tall tulips overhead,

Then grew paler as it fell

On the quiet Asphodel.

 

Now each visiter shall confess

Nothing there is motionless:

Nothing save the airs that brood

O’er the enchanted solitude,

Save the airs with pinions furled

That slumber o'er that valley-world.

No wind in Heaven, and lo! the trees

Do roll like seas, in Northern breeze,

Around the stormy Hebrides —

No wind in Heaven, and clouds do fly,

Rustling everlastingly,

Thro' the terror-stricken sky,

Rolling, like a waterfall,

O’er th’ horizon's fiery wall —

And Helen, like thy human eye,

Low crouched on Earth, some violets lie,

And, nearer Heaven, some lilies wave

All banner-like, above a grave.

And one by one, from out their tops

Eternal dews come down in drops,

Ah, one by one, from off their stems

Eternal dews come down in gems!