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De la Mare, Walter, 1873-1956

"Henry Brocken His Travels and Adventures in the Rich, Strange, Scarce-Imaginable Regions of Romance"

I saw her maidens bound and
sandalled, with all their everlasting flowers; and advancing
soundless, unreal, the silver wheels of that unearthly chariot amid
the Fauns. On, on they gamboled, hoof in yielding turf, blowing reed
melodies, mocking water, their lips laid sidelong, their eyes aleer
along the smoothness of their flutes.
And when I turned again to my companions, with I know not what old
folly in my eyes, I know not what unanswerable cry in my heart,
Reverie alone was at my side. I seemed to see the long fringes of the
lake, the sedge withered, the grey waters restless in the bonds of the
wind, tuneless and chill; all these happy gardens swept bare and
flowerless; and the far hills silent in the unattainable dawn.
"She pipes, he follows," said Reverie; "she sets the tune, he dances.
Yet, sir, on my soul, I believe it is the childish face of that same
Innocence we kept tryst with long ago he pursues on and on, through
what sad labyrinths we, who dream not so wildly, cannot by taking
thought come to guess."
* * * * *
The next two days passed serenely and quietly at Reverie's.


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