Gone.

From the low white walls and the church’s steeple,

From our little fields under grass or grain,

I’m gone away to the fairy people

I shall not come to the town again.

You may see a girl with my face and tresses,

You may see one come to my mother’s door

Who may speak my words and may wear my dresses.

She will not be I, for I come no more.

I am gone, gone far, with the fairies roaming,

You may ask of me where the herons are

In the open marsh when the snipe are homing,

Or when no moon lights nor a single star.

On stormy nights when the streams are foaming

And a hint may come of my haunts afar,

With the reeds my floor and my roof the gloaming,

But I come no more to Ballynar.

Ask Father Ryan to read no verses

To call me back, for I am this day

From blessings far, and beyond curses.

No heaven shines where we ride away.

At speed unthought of in all your stables,

With the gods of old and the sons of Finn,

With the queens that reigned in the olden fables

And kings that won what a sword can win.

You may hear us streaming above your gables

On nights as still as a planet’s spin;

But never stir from your chairs and tables

To call my name.  I shall not come in.

For I am gone to the fairy people.

Make the most of that other child

Who prays with you by the village steeple

I am gone away to the woods and wild.

I am gone away to the open spaces,

And whither riding no man may tell;

But I shall look upon all your faces

No more in Heaven or Earth or Hell.

Lord Dunsany, from The Elfland King's Daughter