Into the western waters
Slow sinks the sunset light,
And the voice of the Wind of Shadows
Calls to my heart to-night—
Calls from the magic countries,
The lost and the lovely lands
Where stands the Master of Shadows,
Holding the dreams in his hands.
All the dreams of the ages
Gather around him there,
Visions of things forgotten
And of things that never were.
Birds in the swaying woodlands,
Creatures furry and small,
Turn to the Master of Shadows
And he gives of his dreams to all.
Lo! I am worn and weary,
Sick of the garish light;
Blow, thou Wind of the Shadows,
Into my heart to-night.
Out of the magic countries,
The lost and the lovely lands,
Where he, the Master of Shadows,
Waits, with the dreams in his hands.