Deep in the woods, I hear, there is a spot
Where no sun shines, and in the night the moon
Cannot be seen; where it is never hot,
Even in summer, and the cheerless tune
Of bagpipes always plays. And I have heard
The echoes of them playing as I stood
Searching it out, a tune without a word
Eerily screeching through the darkened wood.
It struck me standing, and I bent my ear,
Believing that the deep glade must be near:
I stood as rooted as the trees around,
Willing the sound to echo forth again
But all was silent, as the ceaseless pound
Of my own heart filled up the open glen.
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