The wood so softly singing
In a language strange to hear
And the song it sings will find you
As the twilight draws you near

Becoming Faery

In truth we do not go to Faery, we become Faery, and in the beating of a pulse we may live for a year or a thousand years. But when we return the memory is quickly clouded, and we seem to have had a dream or seen a vision, although we have verily been in Faery. James Stephens

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