Broceliande
Alan Seeger
1888 to 1916
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Broceliande! in the perilous beauty of silence and menacing shade,
Thou art set on the shores of the sea the haze of horizons untravelled, unscanned.
Untroubled, untouched with woes of this world are the moon-marshalled hosts that
Broceliande.
Only at dusk, when lavender clouds in orient twilight disband,
Vanishing where all the blue afternoon have drifted in solemn parade,
Sometimes a whisper comes on the wind from the valleys of Fairyland—
Sometimes echo most mournful and faint like the horn of huntsman strayed,
Faint and forlorn, half drowned in the of foliage fitfully fanned,
Breathes in a burden of regret till I startle, disturbed and affrayed:
Broceliande—
Broceliande—
Broceliande. . . .
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