Classic Poem

Merlin wrought it of dream and faërie,
And wafted it by the spell of melody
To the lost, lorn, lovely Isle of Gramarye.

You may not win your way to it by asking,
You may not win your way to it by willing,
Nor may you come on it by any pleading.

Its moony towers pierce immemorial darkness;
Far, far below its crags of glass and jasper,
Winds a river of stars all wanly shining.

Blue air-flowers float above its shadowy doorway,
And flowers of quickgold tremble on its turrets,
Within a sealéd chamber Joy lies sleeping.

Only her dreams come forth, shy and beautiful,
Softly, delicately bewildered and bewildering,
To wander by enchantment through the Castle.

A man would give all bright, fierce, fleshly pleasures,
If to Garde Glamourie he might be winning,
For one wild, worshipful hour of ghostly joyance.

You may not win your way to it by weeping,
You may not win your way to it by working,
Nor may you enter in by gold and silver.

He only that was given the crystal cithern
Strung with the hair of Israfel and Azraël,
May sound the magic chord that wafts him thither.

For Merlin wrought it of dream and faërie,
And wafted it by the spell of melody,
To the lost, lorn, lovely Isle of Gramarye.