Far away—far away— Far away—as far at least Lies that valley as the day Down within the golden east— All things lovely—are not they Far away—far away? It is called the valley Nis. And a Syriac tale there is Thereabout which Time hath said Shall not be interpreted. Something about Satan's dart— Something about angel wings— Much about a broken heart— All about unhappy things: But "the valley Nis" at best Means "the valley of unrest." Once it smil'd a silent dell Where the people did not dwell, Having gone unto the wars— And the sly, mysterious stars, With a visage full of meaning, O'er the unguarded flowers were leaning: Or the sun ray dripp'd all red Thro' the tulips overhead, Then grew paler as it fell On the quiet Asphodel. Now the unhappy shall confess Nothing there is motionless: Helen, like thy human eye There th' uneasy violets lie— There the reedy gra** doth wave Over the old forgotten grave — One by one from the tree top There the eternal dews do drop— There the vague and dreamy trees Do roll like seas in northern breeze Around the stormy Hebrides— There the gorgeous clouds do fly, Rustling everlastingly, Through the terror-stricken sky, Rolling like a waterfall O'er th' horizon's fiery wall— There the moon doth shine by night With a most unsteady light— There the sun doth reel by day "Over the hills and far away."