- Who treads those level lands of gold,
- The level fields of mist and air,
- And rolling mountains manifold
- And towers of twilight over there?
- No mortal foot upon them strays,
- No archer in the towers dwells,
- But feet too airy for our ways
- Go up and down their hills and dells.
- The people out of old romance,
- And people that have never been,
- And those that on the border dance
- Between old history and between
- Resounding fable, as the king
- Who held his court at Camelot.
- There Guinevere is wandering
- And there the knight Sir Lancelot.
- And by yon precipe of white,
- As steep Roncesvalles, and more,
- Within an inch of fancy's sight,
- Roland the peerless rides to war.
- And just the tip of Quixote's spear,
- The greatest of them all by far,
- Is surely visible from here!
- But no: it is the Evening Star.
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