In a lone valley fair and far,
Where many sweet beguilements are,
I know a spot to lag and
Through damask morns and noons agleam;
For feet fall lightly on the
And twilight is a wondrous thing,
When the winds blow from some far
Beyond the hill rims westering;
There echoes ring as if a
Of fairies hid from mortal
Sent laughter back in spirit
And song as the pure soul of song;
Oh, 'tis a spot to love right well,
This lonely, witching Echo Dell!
Even the winds an echo know,
Elusive, faint, such as might blow From wandering elf-land bugles far,
Beneath an occidental star;
And I have thought the blue bells lent A subtle music to my ear,
And that the pale wild roses bent To harken sounds I might not hear.
The tasselled fir trees softly croon The fabled lore of elder days.
And through the shimmering eastern haze Floats slowly up the mellow moon;
Come, heart o' mine, for love must dwell In whispering, witching Echo Dell.
