Enchanters sit no idle,
They sing and paly with the world's own thought,
Yet work on book and bridle,
Which they with magic have bought.
Dreamers and artists alone know forsure,
They dream and create the world's tales,
All of them with hearts so pure:
They know the secret of life which sails.
Here is ther tale to you :

Like magic dreams,
Flown to far away,
For memory's remembrance.
Far, like those dreams,
All sought forever, over
Time's sweetened silence;
Through all that was found but lost at last,
All seek it still…
I sought not as you did,
Nor you as I.
I sought under frost and under grass
Behind the stars, the night!
And over mountain and hill and plain,
But as it is it shall remain,
Forever.

I know a place
Of budding power
Of flowering dreams.
It lies behind the forests
And over those hills.
Follow the stream,
And you shall see;
Pass through the mists of enternity.
Like shadows vanish
Before a morning sun,
Like snow melts
Under that same light…
So it goes,
But it is here now:
This is forever.