In a Land, far, far away
In a golden place
Beyond the vistas of inspiration
Beyond the yellowed pages of Shakespeare
Beyond the Brick Road and the end of the Rainbow
Beyond the sparkle of wands and the Purple Cloud-
Beyond all beyond, the back of beyond,
Bescreened in the starlight of fancy,
Lies a Kingdom, enveiled
In the arms of golden mist
Wrapped, in the wine-perfume
Of murmuring secrets
And the nectar of Paradise.

The Land,
Where shimmering gold turrets rise
To ancient stars, as ancient as
The rich violet skies.
Where Night
Is but a friend,
Soft-stepping, in a cloud
Of gentian-silk, and black-velvet sighs.

And the brilliant white courts of gold,
Aglow
With burnished wood-gloss
And quivering sun-fire,
Echo
With the song of elfin chimes
And the gold harp of desire
And the tinkle of golden anklets,
Fair maidens
In rustling gold
With ripe-rye locks, of Midas
The Land
Wherein dwells Pheobus, with his ‘fiery-footed steeds’
And the Zoroastrian Fire

The Land
Which the pilgrim did quest
And the poet
And the jinn, of old,
And journeyed far and wide
Through red-rock gorges, deep
And grottos of mermen beneath the sea,
And icicles and caves
And wild woodland paths
Sprinkled
With drops of sunlight,
And they did cry and think
It were not twilight

And swear, or pray, or laugh
or prostrate-
To see it still Night?
And the gleaming gold towers
Still out of sight.

Onward they trudge
Through valleys well-worn
By adventure, and
Mourn

In search of the Light
In search of the Way
Fleeing the Night, enveloping
‘a darkness invisible’.

If only they gazed
to Heaven,
They’d see the stars…