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The dewy ground was dark and cold;Behind, all gloomy to behold;And stepping westward seem'd to beA kind of heavenly destiny;I liked the greeting; 'twas a soundOf something without place or bound;And seem'd to give me spiritual rightTo travel through that region bright.
The voice was soft, and she who spakeWas walking by her native Lake:The salutation had to meThe very sound of courtesy:It's power was felt; and while my eyeWas fixed upon the glowing sky,The echo of the voice enwroughtA human sweetness with the thoughtOf travelling through the world that layBefore me in my endless way.
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