Yonderdale

Hamlet and the Ghost (1901) by Frederick James Shields

No sail has ever touched the wind

Nor hoof the virgin earth

Of Yonderdale, the land of kin

Born to star, tide, and mirth.

The grandest of their kind are known

By shape and shade of mist

When in the mead they dance and roam

And are by moonlight kissed.

Leaves and birds and rivers falling

Trees with fruit ripe as spring

Come to life and in fog sprawling

Spin tales before their King.

In Yonderdale he laughs and reins

Though ours his Kingdom too 

For stoney mounts and verdant plains

Both by his magic grew.

In yesterage he held the sky,

Feet deep in living lakes,

Singing forepassed songs sweet and high,

Fair clouds of light to wake.

Legend holds that when Virgil’s star

Lays down his stately head

On shore of Pilgrim’s Verge afar

Men shall among them tread.

See! Fate has cut the mooring line

The old to young regale

The morn we beached the land sublime,

Our home in Yonderdale.

Dedication: To J. R. R. Tolkein