Spirits in Bondage

by C.S. Lewis

XXVIII - Ballade Mystique

he big, red-house is bare and lone
     The stony garden waste and sere
     With blight of breezes ocean blown
     To pinch the wakening of the year;
     My kindly friends with busy cheer
     My wretchedness could plainly show.
     They tell me I am lonely here—
     What do they know? What do they know?

     They think that while the gables moan
     And easements creak in winter drear
     I should be piteously alone
     Without the speech of comrades dear;
     And friendly for my sake they fear,
     It grieves them thinking of me so
     While all their happy life is near—
     What do they know? What do they know?

     That I have seen the Dagda's throne
     In sunny lands without a tear
     And found a forest all my own
     To ward with magic shield and spear,
     Where, through the stately towers I rear
     For my desire, around me go
     Immortal shapes of beauty clear:
     They do not know, they do not know.

     L'Envoi

     The friends I have without a peer
     Beyond the western ocean's glow,
     Whither the faerie galleys steer,
     They do not know: how should they know?