CECIL

Ye little elves, who haunt sweet dells,

Where flowers with the dew commune,

I pray you hush the child, Cecil,

With windlike song.

O little elves, so white she lieth,

Each eyelid gentler than the flow'r

Of the bramble, and her fleecy hair

Like smoke of gold.

O little elves, her hands and feet

The angels muse upon, and God

Hath shut a glimpse of Paradise

In each blue eye.

O little elves, her tiny body

Like a white flake of snow it is,

Drooping upon the pale green hood

Of the chill snowdrop.

O little elves, with elderflower,

And pimpernel, and the white hawthorn,

Sprinkle the journey of her dreams:

And, little elves,

Call to her magically sweet,

Lest of her very tenderness

She do forsake this rough brown earth

And return to us no more.