Romance and Reality

1 
Was it water in the woodlands,
  Hidden brooks that sweetly chime
With the music of the woodlands,
  Through the golden summer time?
2 
Was it mystic moan of breaker
  Coming faintly from afar,
Where the blind sea heaves its shoulder 
  Lazily against the Bar?
3 
Was it sound of loving ringdove,
  Or innumerable bees,
Or the great heart of the forest
  Throbbing through a thousand trees?
4 
It was not what I had fancied,
  'Twas no Dryad's half-heard note—
For the Gods are dead and done with, 
  And we learn their names by rote.
5 
It was neither bee or ringdove, 
  Sea, or wood,  or brooklet—but
The voice of Grubbins quartus' 
  Chanting softly in his hut.
6 
And I thought my spirit knew it,­
  That plaintive madrigal
Of a Lover and his Lady, 
  Of a Garden and its wall.

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