I tread a tranquil valley ground
Where naught but birdsong notes surround,
Echoing through woods with its clear beat
And through the blades of grass beneath my feet.
The land is lush and lovely green,
The fairest shades of jade you've seen,
And gay flowers of joyful colors bloom
Here in God's self-decorated room.
This is a place of magic, I can say,
A home of nymphs and woodland fairies fey,
A place whose essence comes from Beauty's self
Where are the secret homes of both the fairy and the elf.
Here can the weary nomad traveler pause
And here can Man examine his life's cause
With no distraction to seduce his eye,
Only God's gentle voice in brook streams running by.
Ah, here I can escape and breath a sigh,
Evade that despot Sibyl from Delphi,
As I on verdant pastures lie
And watch the clouds on the clear blue sky.
And then I stood to see a bush of rose,
Picked up a bloom and held it to my nose,
And as I bent to smell the scarlet rose
The vision faded: I woke from repose.
A dream? Perhaps, perhaps it's not a dream,
Remember: Things are not as they can seem.