Hyperborea

There.

There the wind is sweet and warm
And no hint of arctic storm
Disturbs the sweet-scented air.

Here.

Here there is breathing water,
Unled by ice to ice-white slaughter,
And there is song and laughter clear.

There.

There there are green dells and vales,
And glades where the peacock sails
Forth to spread his tail bright-fair.

Here.

Here there are glittering places
Where the silver trees have human faces,
And here are mild, milk-white deer.

There.

There there is an endless summer
That lulls and soothes any new comer
Into sheltering in summer's lair.

Here.

Here there is an endless spring
Full of the sound of flowers murmuring,
And no child has ever shed a tear.

There.

There are all the sweet things of dreams,
The glades where the morning star gleams,
And where nymphs are braiding their hair.

Here.

Here there are fruits tart and sweet,
A green carpet of grass for feet,
And amaranth growing on the mere.

There.

There there is the breathing season,
Full of life and love beyond reason,
And there are mermaids swimming there.

Here.

Here is the Hyperborean land,
Sheltered under Zephyrus's hand,
And there is endless summer here.