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THE HORN Walter de la Mare









THE HORN
Walter de la Mare


Hark! is that a horn I hear, 
In cloudland winding sweet— 
And bell-like clash of bridle-rein, 
And silver-shod light feet?

Is it the elfin laughter
Of fairies riding faint and high, 
Beneath the branches of the moon, 
Straying through the starry sky?

Is it in the globèd dew
Such sweet melodies may fall?
Wood and valley—all are still, 
Hushed the shepherd's call.

     
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