There is a land I know, where four enchantments ever
Enfold the heart with beauty—and strangeness from afar,
And fashion all its hours of unhappiest endeavour
Into forgotten failure; and these four enchantments are:—
Ever the sound of water, of rain or rushing river;
Ever the wraith of mist, walking the mountain side;
And the pines it passes, black; and the temple bells that shiver
The deep grey solemn silence in whose soul the gods abide.