DEAR MR. GRAHAM--To whom so fittingly as to you could I inscribe this
book? It was you who suggested it; you who in _Country Life_ published
at intervals, longer or shorter as the errant spirit of composition
moved me, the several papers which make it one book; you without whose
encouragement and good counsel this volume would probably not have been
written. Then, perchance, it might have gone to that Y-Brasil Press in
the Country of the Young wherefrom are issued all the delightful books
which, though possible and welcome in Tir-na-n’ Og, are unachieved in
this more difficult world, except in dreams and hopes. It would be good
to have readers among the kindly Shee ... do not the poets there know
an easy time, having only to breathe their thought on to a leaf and
to whisper their music to a reed, and lo the poem is public from the
caverns of Tir-fo-tuinn to the hills of Flatheanas! ... but, till one
gets behind the foam yonder, the desire of the heart is for comrades
here. These hours of beauty have meant so much to me, somewhat in the
writing, but much more in the long, incalculable hours and days out of
which the writing has risen like the blue smoke out of woods, that I
want to share them with others, who may care for the things written of
as you and I care for them, and among whom may be a few who, likewise,
will be moved to garner from each day of the eternal pageant one hour
of unforgettable beauty.