Atop a hill not far from home
Brought here before
by guidance of roam.
`Still in sight was church and road
beyond which folk just never go’ed:
there hedge and hall and heart e’er grow’ed.

“But what abroad? But what abounds
in places no
man ever found?”
No answer would I ever get
a smile and polite “forget”:
those questions who still linger yet!

So climbed I that hill once again:
Ahead lay naught
but tree and fen,
rivers wide and cold and deep
which ran from hills and mountains steep
wherein none know what creatures creep.

Then: Lo! I cried, and down I dove
What journey awaits?
What treasure trove?
Not heeding prick of branch nor bramble
that tore my garbs into a shamble:
not like the paths that oft I amble!

Perhaps by dawn I’d find a castle
Ruled over once
by some lordly vassal;
Who dwelt here then? Elves, Dwarves, or Men?
Did they last long till timely end?
Or perish while they their lands defend?

Then traveling home t’wards stove and steam,
T’wards panes that in
the morning gleam;
Too soon! no doubt I’d hear myself say
by the longing I felt for ever to stay
but no lie: I’d be glad to on my bed lay.

Of my trip I’d tell all who cared
To perch on a stool
or plunk down in a chair.
“Them books, your head with ideas fill:
There be no Elves, and never will!”
says those who’ve never crossed that hill.