The North Wind storms my rugged front,
The ivy scales my southern wall;
I never knew the crashing brunt
Of musketry or cannon-ball.

When armies met in battle-shock,
When smoke of navies rolled afar,
Men made me strong on living rock;
I frowned with guns awaiting war;

Awaiting war that never came,
A virgin fortress still I stand;
But now, unscathed by hostile flame,
I guard a gate of Fairyland.

For, while my gloomy watch I stood,
Unmarked the leafy marvel grew;
Behind me spread the mystic wood—
A place of dreams where dreams are true;

Where low winds move the tasseled fir,
Where lilacs breathe, where brown bees hum,
Where old men tell of days that were,
Where lovers talk of days to come;

Where boyish cohorts, undismayed,
Deploy beneath the friendly trees
To take my cliffs by escalade.
May all their wars be such as these!