| I cried when the moon was murmuring to the birds: |
| ‘Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will, |
| I
long for your merry and tender and pitiful words, |
| For the roads are unending, and there is no place to
my mind.’ |
| The honey-pale moon lay low on the sleepy hill, |
| And I fell asleep upon lonely Echtge of streams. |
| No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind; |
| The boughs have withered because I have told
them my dreams. |
|
|
|
|
| I know of the leafy paths that the witches take |
| Who come with their crowns of pearl
and their spindles of wool, |
| And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake; |
| I know where a dim
moon drifts, where the Danaan kind |
| Wind and unwind dancing when the light grows cool |
| On the island
lawns, their feet where the pale foam gleams. |
| No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind; |
| The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams. |
|
|
|
|
| I know of the sleepy country, where
swans fly round |
| Coupled with golden chains, and sing as they fly. |
| A king and a queen are wandering
there, and the sound |
| Has made them so happy and hopeless, so deaf and so blind |
| With wisdom, they
wander till all the years have gone by; |
| I know, and the curlew and peewit on Echtge of streams. |
| No
boughs have withered because of the wintry wind; |
| The boughs have withered because I have told them
my dreams. |