THE THREE KINGDOMS.
O moonlit land of Might-have-been!
Where long my 'trancéd feet have strayed,
Lured by rich vistas, vaguely seen
Through many a velvet-shadowed glade,
Of sheltered vales of virgin peace,
And dewy meadows of delight,
And flashing streams, and shimmering seas,
And summits soaring out of sight;
While wraith-like over hill and dell
A sighing wind for ever goes,
Whose music in its lull and swell
A note of witching sadness knows:
With steadfast will I turn my eyes
From all your silver mystery:
I list no more the breeze that sighs
Its sweet regret from tree to tree.
For there is poison in your breath,
And madness in your moaning breeze;
And hidden swamps invite to death,
And pale shapes lurk amid the trees:
And many a noble heart and brave,
Lured by your beauty's syren snare,
Has found a vain, inglorious grave,
Stricken by your miasmic air.
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