There are few of us who know What wonders we were shown In the visions of our youth For children, as we were, Think only half formed thoughts And now, as men, we recollect A dull and shattered dream But some of us awake With phantasms so strange; Enchanted hills and golden plains And cities made of stone Where ancient heroes rode Caparisoned with gold We come alive and then we know We've looked back through the gates, The gates the Forest Keeper made