  The splendor falls on castle walls, And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying Blow, bugle! answer, echoes,—dying, dying, dying. O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow! let us hear the purple glens replying; Blow, bugle! answer, echoes,—dying, dying, dying. O love, they die on yon rich sky; They faint on hill, or field, or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer,—dying, dying, dying. |
|
