There's a land that's like a dream, Far from other lands apart, Close beside our life's bright stream; And this land is called—"the heart." No one knows who liveth here, Who doth rule this mystic land; None, though strained with list'ning ear, Can its language understand. Masked its guests; they do not tell Whence they come or where depart; Like an odor in the cell Of a rose, they haunt the heart. Softly glides the mystic throng, Like the figures of a dream: Here they enter like a song— There they vanish like a dream. Flashing smiles of joys long past, Waking secrets of a tear, Bearing hopes that can not last, Whisp'ring names we would not hear. Singing songs that have no words, Mourning woes that have no tears, Fluttering, like restless birds, Down the weary waste of years. Soft their laughter, like the rill Murmuring in sportive glee; Sad their sighs, that through us thrill Like the sobbing of the sea. On the heart's great walls again Fairy pictures they unroll, Dashed with tints of joy and pain— Matchless sunsets of the soul. Thus they glide from shade to sheen; And when we would grasp their bliss, More elusive than a dream, Lightly vanish, like a kiss. Who can understand their speech? Who their source or goal impart? Who to man the symbols teach Of this mystic land—the heart? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COMING OF GOOD LUCK by ROBERT HERRICK GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE JOY OF CHURCH FELLOWSHIP RIGHTLY ATTENDED by EDWARD TAYLOR THE DANGER OF DISCONTENT by E.-G. BAYFIELD THE ARCHERY MEETING by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY PSALM 31. IN TE DOMINE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE HISTORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA: BOOK 1 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 11. TO EDWARD THOMAS, WITH A PLAY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |