| The air was neither night or a day,
|
| But faintly dark with softest light
|
| When first glimmered into sight
|
| The Cottage of Lost Play
|
| You and me — we know that land
|
| And often have been there in The old days, old days
|
| The dark child and a fair
|
| Was it down the paths of firelight
|
| Dreams in winter cold and white,
|
| Or in the blue-spun twilight, twilight hours
|
| The air was neither night or day,
|
| But faintly dark with softest light,
|
| When first there glimmered into sight
|
| The Cottage of Lost Play
|
| And why we never found the same
|
| Old cottage, or magic
|
| Track that leads between a silver sea,
|
| Between a silver sea
|
| And those old shores and gardens fair
|
| Where all things are that ever were —
|
| We know not, You and Me We know not, You and Me Those old shores and gardens fair
|
| Where all things are
|
| That ever were
|
| The air was neither night or day,
|
| But faintly dark with softest light,
|
| When first there glimmered into sight
|
| The Cottage of Lost Play
|
| And those old shores and gardens fair
|
| Where all things are that ever were
|
| We know not, You and Me,
|
| We know not, You and Me And these old shores
|
| And gardens fair
|
| Where all things are
|
| That ever were
|
| Air was neither night or day
|
| But faintly dark with softest light
|
| When first there glimmered
|
| The Cottage of Lost Play |