XXVIII

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XXVIII

Ballade Mystique

The big, red house is bare and lone

The stony garden waste and sere

With blight of breezes ocean blown

To pinch the wakening of the year;

My kindly friends with busy cheer

My wretchedness could plainly show.

They tell me I am lonely here⁠—

What do they know? What do they know?

They think that while the gables moan

And easements creak in winter drear

I should be piteously alone

Without the speech of comrades dear;

And friendly for my sake they fear,

It grieves them thinking of me so

While all their happy life is near⁠—

What do they know? What do they know?

That I have seen the Dagda’s throne

In sunny lands without a tear

And found a forest all my own

To ward with magic shield and spear,

Where, through the stately towers I rear

For my desire, around me go

Immortal shapes of beauty clear:

They do not know, they do not know.

The friends I have without a peer

Beyond the western ocean’s glow,

Wither the faerie galleys steer,

They do not know: how should they know?