‘Have you not seen
In ancient times
Pilgrims pass by
Toward other climes?
With shining faces,
Youthful and strong,
Mounting this hill
With speech and with song?’
‘Ah, my good sir,
I know not those ways:
Little my knowledge,
Tho’ many my days.
When I have slumbered,
I have heard sounds
As of travellers passing
These my grounds:
‘’Twas a sweet music
Wafted them by,
I could not tell
If afar off or nigh.
Unless I dreamed it,
This was of yore:
I never told it
To mortal before;
‘Never remembered
But in my dreams,
What to me waking
A miracle seems.’