Beauty was born of the world's desire 
For the wandering water, the wandering fire. 
Under the arch of her hurrying feet 
She has trodden a world full of bittersweet. 

The blood of the violet is in her veins, 
Her pulse has the passion of April rains. 
Out of the heart of a satin flower 
God made her eyelids in one sweet hour. 

Out of the wind He made her feet 
That they might be lovely, and luring, and fleet. 
Out of a cloud He wove her hair 
Heavy and black with the rain held there. 

What is her name? There's none that knows— 
Mother-o'-mischief, or Mouth-o'-rose. 
What is her pathway? None may tell. 
But it climbs to heaven and it dips to hell. 

The garment on her is mist and fire, 
Anger and sorrow and heart's desire. 
Her forehead-jewel's an amethyst, 
The garland to her is love-in-a-mist. 

Her girdle is of the beryl-stone, 
And one dark rose for her flower has grown,
Filled to the brim with the strength o' the sun, 
A passionate rose, and only one. 

The bird in her breast sings all day long 
A wonderful, wistful, whispering song: 
The song that is of all passing things,
None knows it — wingless or born with wings. 

Last night, last night, in the dark o' the moon 
Into my dreams slid a faery tune 
It slew the dreams that I dreamed of him, 
With its moonshine music, faint and dim. 
What tune should the fairy pipers play 
But "Over the Hills and Far Away? " 

The music called to my idle feet, 
And O! the music was wild and sweet: 
I left my dreams and my lonely bed, 
And followed afar where the music led — 
And never a tune did the pipers play 
But "Over the Hills and Far Away." 

Over the hills and far away, 
What love has tenderer words to say? 
Love that lifteth or bows the head, 
Love that liveth or love that's dead? 
Hills that are far away are fair, 
And I followed the ghost of my lover there. 

We danced all night in a silent band, 
I and my lover, hand in hand: 
We danced, nor knew till the dew was dry 
That deep slept Donat and lone slept I — 
We took no thought of the coming day 
Over the hills and far away. 

My eyes are blind with the growing light, 
And O my grief! that the day was night — 
For my heart is broke, for my lover's eyes, 
And all day long in my ears there cries 
The tune of the fairy pipes that play 
"Over the Hills and Far Away."