Nought I saw while gazing round me, while that voice so spell-like bound me,
While that voice so spell-like bound me—searching in that tranquil dell,
Like hushed hymn of holy hermit, heard from his dimly-lighted cell,
Merely whispering, “Fare thee well!”
Then I stooped once more, and drinking, heard once more the silvery tinkling,
Of that dim mysterious utterance, like some fairy harp of shell—
Struck by hand of woodland fairy, from her shadowy home and airy,
In the purple clouds and airy, floating o’er that mystic dell,
And from my sick soul its music seemed all evil to expel,
Merely whispering, “Fare thee well!”