SONG.
The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story
The long light shakes across the lakes
And the wild cataract leaps in glory:
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle, answer echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Oh hark! oh hear! now thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
Oh! sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elf-land faintly blowing.
Blow; let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle, answer echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O Love, they die on yon rich sky,
They faint on hill, on field, on river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Tennyson.