one furtive moment to step from the schemes of man, to slip back to
mystery and romance again as cats do when they steal on velvet feet
away from familiar hearths in the dark of the moon.

Night fell, and the moment came. Someone lit a window, far up another
shone with its orange glow. Window by window, and yet not nearly all.
Surely if modern man with his clever schemes held any sway here still
he would have turned one switch and lit them all together; but we are
back with the older man of whom far songs tell, he whose spirit is kin
to strange romances and mountains. One by one the windows shine from
the precipices; some twinkle, some are dark; man's orderly schemes
have gone, and we are amongst vast heights lit by inscrutable beacons.

I have seen such cities before, and I have told of them in _The Book
of Wonder_.

Here in New York a poet met a welcome.




** BEYOND THE FIELDS WE KNOW **

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Beyond the fields we know, in the Lands of Dream, lies the Valley of
the Yann where the mighty river of that name, rising in the Hills of
Hap, idleing its way by massive dream-evoking amethyst cliffs,
orchid-laden forests, and ancient mysterious cities, comes to the Gates
of Yann and passes to the sea.