SONG OF THE ELF

When the poppies, with their shields,

Sentinel

Forest and the harvest fields,

In the bell

Of a blossom, fair to see,

There I stall the bumble-bee,

My good stud;

There I stable him and hold,

Harness him with hairy gold;

There I ease his burly back

Of the honey and its sack

Gathered from each bud.

Where the glow-worm lights its lamp,

There I lie;

Where, above the grasses damp,

Moths go by;

Now within the fussy brook,

Where the waters wind and crook

Round the rocks,

I go sailing down the gloom

Straddling on a wisp of broom;

Or, beneath the owlet moon,

Trip it to the cricket's tune

Tossing back my locks.

Ere the crowfoot on the lawn

Lifts its head,

Or the glow-worm's light be gone,

Dim and dead,

In a cobweb hammock deep,

‘ Twixt two ferns I swing and sleep,

Hid away;

Where the drowsy musk-rose blows

And a dreamy runnel flows,

In the land of Faery,

Where no mortal thing can see,

All the elfin day.