FAIRIES.

On the tremulous coppice,

From her plenteous hair,

Large golden-rayed poppies

Of moon-litten air

The Night hath flung there.

In the fern-favored hollow

The fire-flies fleet

Uncertainly follow

Pale phantoms of heat,

Druid shadows that meet.

Hidden flowers are fragrant;

The night hazes furl

O'er the solitudes vagrant

In purple and pearl,

Sway-swinging and curl.

From moss-cushioned valley

Where the red sunlight fails,

Rocks where musically

The hollow spring wails,

And the limber fern trails,

With a ripple and twinkle

Of luminous arms,

Of voices that tinkle,

And feet that are storms

Of chaste, naked charms,

Like echoes that revel

On hills, where the brier

Vaults roofs of dishevel

And green, greedy fire,

They come as a choir.

At the root of the mountain

Where the dim forest lies,

By the spar-spouting fountain

Where the low lily dies,

With their star-stinging eyes.

They gather sweet singing

In voices that seem

Faint ringing and clinging

In dreams that we dream,

In visions that gleam.

Sweet lisping of kisses,

Dry rustle of hair;

A footfall that hisses

Like a leaf in the air

When the brown boughs are bare.

The music that scatters

From love-litten eyes;

The music that flatters

In words and low sighs,

In laughter that dies:

“Come hither, come hither,

In the million-eyed night,

Ere the moon-flowers wither

And the harvester white,

Morning reaps them with light.

“Come hither, where singing

Is pleasant as tears,

Or dead kisses, clinging

To the murdering years,

In memory's ears.

“Come hither where kisses

Are waiting for you,

For lips and long tresses,

As for wild flowers blue

The moon-heated dew.

“Come hither from coppice

And violet dale,

The mountain whose top is

In vapors that sail

With pearly hail pale.

“Why tarry? come hither

While the molten moon beams,

Ere the golden spark wither

Of the glow-worm that gleams

Like a star in still streams!”