Echo Dell

 In a lone valley fair and far,
Where many sweet beguilements are,
I know a spot to lag and dream
Through damask morns and noons agleam;
For feet fall lightly on the fern
And twilight is a wondrous thing,
When the winds blow from some far bourne
Beyond the hill rims westering;
There echoes ring as if a throng
Of fairies hid from mortal eyes
Sent laughter back in spirit guise
And song as the pure soul of song;
Oh, 'tis a spot to love right well,
This lonely, witching Echo Dell! 

Even the winds an echo know, 
Elusive, faint, such as might blow 
From wandering elf-land bugles far, 
Beneath an occidental star; 
And I have thought the blue bells lent 
A subtle music to my ear, 
And that the pale wild roses bent 
To harken sounds I might not hear.
 
The tasselled fir trees softly croon 
The fabled lore of elder days.
 
And through the shimmering eastern haze 
Floats slowly up the mellow moon; 
Come, heart o' mine, for love must dwell 
In whispering, witching Echo Dell.

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