hadows, the clusters of green apples on the bough. And in
the early morning we would go, carrying torn-off branches, and
shouting our songs through the fields, till we came to the shadow and
the hush of the woods. Ay, Reverie, and we would burst in on silence,
each his heart beating, and play there. And perhaps it was Hopeful who
would steal away from us, and the others play on; or perhaps you into
the sunlight that maddened the sheltered bird to flit and sing in the
orchard where the little child we loved played--not yet sad, but how
much beloved; not yet weary of passing shadows, and simple creatures,
and boy's rough gifts and cold hands. But I--with me it was ever
evening, when the blackbird bursts harshly away. Then it was so still
in the orchard, and in the curved bough so solitary, that the
nightingale, cowering, would almost for fear begin to sing, and stoop
to the bending of the bough, her sidelong eyes in shade; while the
stars began to stand in the stations above us, ever bright, and all
the night was peace. Then would I dream on--dream of the face I loved,
Innocence, O Innocence!"

It was a strange outburst. His voice rose almost to a chant, full of a
forlorn music. But even as he ceased, we heard in the following
silence, above the plashing of the restless fountains, beyond, far and
faint, a wild and stranger music welling. And I saw from the porch
that looks out from the house called Gloom, "La belle Dame sans Merci"
pass riding with her train, who rides in beauty beneath the huntress,
heedless of disguise. Across from far away, like leaves of autumn,
skirred the dappled deer. The music grew, timbrel and pipe and tabor,
as beneath the glances of the moon the little company sped, transient
as a rainbow, elusive as a dream. I saw her maidens bound and
sandalled, with all their everlasting flowers; and advancing
soundless, unreal, the silver wheels of that unearthly chariot amid
the Fauns. On, on they gamboled, hoof in yielding turf, blowing reed
melodies, mocking water, their lips laid sidelong, their eyes aleer
along the smoothness of their flutes.

And when I turned again to my companions, with I know not what old
folly in my eyes, I know not what unanswerable cry in my heart,
Reverie alone was at my side. I seemed to see the long fringes of the
lake, the sedge withered, the grey waters restless in the bonds of the
wind, tuneless and chill; all these happy gardens swept bare and
flowerless; and the far hi