Explore "The Gates of Dreamland" by George William Russell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It's a lonely road through bogland to the lake at Carrowmore, / And a sleeper there lies dreaming where the water laps the shore; / Though the moth-wings of the twilight in their purples are unfurled, / Yet his sleep is filled with music by the masters of the world.
There's a hand is white as silver that is fondling with his hair: / There are glimmering feet of sunshine that are dancing by him there: / And half-open lips of faery that were dyed a faery red / In their revels where the Hazel Tree its holy clusters shed.