THE BULLFINCHES

Bother Bulleys, let us sing

From the dawn till evening! -

For we know not that we go not

When the day's pale pinions fold

Unto those who sang of old.

When I flew to Blackmoor Vale,

Whence the green-gowned faeries hail,

Roosting near them I could hear them

Speak of queenly Nature's ways,

Means, and moods,— well known to fays.

All we creatures, nigh and far

( Said they there ), the Mother's are:

Yet she never shows endeavour

To protect from warrings wild

Bird or beast she calls her child.

Busy in her handsome house

Known as Space, she falls a-drowse;

Yet, in seeming, works on dreaming,

While beneath her groping hands

Fiends make havoc in her bands.

How her hussif'ry succeeds

She unknows or she unheeds,

All things making for Death's taking!

— So the green-gowned faeries say

Living over Blackmoor way.

Come then, brethren, let us sing,

From the dawn till evening! -

For we know not that we go not

When the day's pale pinions fold

Unto those who sang of old.