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Xanthochroid
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To Souls Distant and Dreaming
There are few of us who know
What wonders we were shown
In the visions of our youth
For children, as we were,
Think only half formed thoughts
And now, as men, we recollect
A dull and shattered dream
But some of us awake
With phantasms so strange;
Enchanted hills and golden plains
And cities made of stone
Where ancient heroes rode
Caparisoned with gold
We come alive and then we know
We've looked back through the gates,
The gates the Forest Keeper made
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