Legend

The Enchanted Pilgrims said,

No, no, it is not far-

We were not long-the way

Lies past these clouds of light.

Though forged of quartz and iron,

It is a little star.

Ice-crystal is its air.

We walked in winter there,

Bright snow fell on our capes.

In spring we saw the small

Fruit forming on the boughs.

Always at evening

The carved coasts shone, the sky

Stained the great waves. Night

Went slowly through those lands

With many lights. Always,

They told us, that world turned.

We thought at times a pure

Rain fell like light.

The wind was distant bells.

Forms resembling men

Walked in the valleys. Shapes

Like men moved in the hills.

Strange beasts dwelt there, they said.

We knew not if the leaves

'Were true nor yet the stars.

They told us the faint hills,

The intense mountains, all-

The waves, the glass of sky-

Were only colored mists.

Elder Olson

No man was certain these

Were not the fields of sleep.

We being bound believed. We

Trod upon the dreamt

Land. We drank of the

Dream waters. We pursued

Down immaterial

'Autumn and ghostly spring

Time's wraith, the phantom year.

Oh, Earth is exceeding fair:

Go, go, be happy there.