Ye seek in vain in your temples—she dwells not in aisles of stone;
Apart, and at peace, and silent, she waits in the night alone.
Her eyes are as moonlit waters, her brows with the stars are bound,
And her footsteps move to music, but no man has heard the sound.
No incense burns at her altar—at her shrine no lamplight gleams,
But she guards the Fountains of Quiet, and she keeps the key of Dreams,
And I will sit in the shadows and pray her, of her grace,
To open her guarded visions and grant me to dream of your face.
I ask not to break the silence, but only that you shall stand,
As oft you stood in the old-time, with your hand upon my hand;
So I will sit very quiet, that Our Lady of Darkness may shed
Her balms of healing and silence and of dreams upon my head.
DALUAN
Daluan, the Shepherd,
When winter winds blow chill,
Goes piping o'er the upland,
Goes piping by the rill;
And whoso hears his music
Must follow where he will.
Daluan, the Shepherd,
(So the old story saith)
He pipes the tunes of laughter,
The songs of sighing breath;
He pipes the souls of mortals
Through the dark gates of Death.
Daluan, the Shepherd,
Who listens to his strain
Shall look no more on laughter,
Shall taste no more of pain,
Shall know no more the longing
That eats at heart and brain.
Daluan, the Shepherd—
Beside the sobbing rill,
And through the dripping woodlands,
And up the gusty hill,
I hear the pipes of Daluan
Crying and calling still.