* THE PIXIES’ PLOT *

You have it, or you have it not:

The cantle of the Pixies’ plot,

Where never spade nor hoe shall ply

To break that treasured sanctity.

Touch no bloom there; uproot no weed;

Let what will blow.

Suffer the thistle, briar and thorn to grow,

The dandelion to seed.

Though full the garden of your mind,

Well planted on a soil that’ s kind;

Your hedges gay, your borders clean,

Your seasons fair, your clime serene,

Yet trammel not the Pixies’ mite,

For well-coming

Chance little, wandering, weary, fairy thing

Lost in the dim owl-light.

Still virgin, free and set apart,

Ordain one dingle of your heart,

Where visions home and wing to you

The golden dreams that might come true.

Herein a gentler dawn than day

Shall often break

For foot-sore spirits, tired of reason’ s ache,

And children come to play.