There's faery in this garden I cannot bear to hear him sing: "Thee sculptors all pursuing, Have embodied but their own; Round their visions, form enduring, Marble vestments thou hast thrown" There's faery in my garden I cannot bear to hear him sing: "But thyself, in silence winding, Thou hast kept eternally Thee they found not, many finding I have found thee, wake for me." "Hear my voice come through the golden Mist of memory and hope; And with shadowy smile embolden Me with primal death to cope."