Ah, how remote, forlorn
Sounded the sad, sweet horn
In forest gloom enchanted!
I saw the shadows of kings go riding by,
But cerements mingled and paled with their panoply,
And the moss-ways deadened the steps of steeds that never panted.
Ah, what had phantasy
In that sad sound to say,
Sad as a spirit’s wailing?
A call from over the seas of shadowland,