Part 5

For, on a sudden, the woman of fashion, Soft at my side in her diamonds and lace, Vanished, and pale with reproach or with passion, You, my dead sweetheart, looked up in my face.

Music, the nebulous lights, and the sifting Fragrance of women made amorous the air; Born of these three and my thoughts you came drifting, Clad in dim muslin, a rose in your hair.

There in the waltz, that followed the lancers, Hard to my breast did I crush you and hold; Far through the stir and the throng of the dancers Onward I bore you as often of old.

Pale were your looks; and the rose in your tresses Paler of hue than the dreams we have lost;-- "Who," then I said, "is it sees or who guesses, Here in the hall, that I dance with a ghost?"

Gone!--And the dance and the music are ended. Gone!--And the rapture is turned into sighs. And, on my arm, in her elegance splendid, The woman of fashion smiles up in my eyes.

Had I forgotten? and did she remember?-- She who is dead, whom I can not forget: She, for whose sake all my heart is an ember Covered with ashes of dreams and regret.

AT MIDNIGHT

At midnight in the trysting wood I wandered by the waterside, When, soft as mist, before me stood My sweetheart who had died.

But so unchanged was she, meseemed That I had only dreamed her dead; Glad in her eyes the lovelight gleamed; Her lips were warm and red.

What though the stars shone shadowy through Her form as by my side she went, And by her feet no drop of dew Was stirred, no blade was bent!

What though through her white loveliness The wildflower dimmed, the moonlight paled, Real to my touch she was; no less Than when the earth prevailed.

She took my hand. My heart beat wild. She kissed my mouth. I bowed my head. Then, gazing in my eyes, she smiled: "When did'st thou die?" she said.

THAT NIGHT

That night I sat listening, as in a swoon, With half-closed eyes, To far-off bells, low-lulling as a tune That drifts and dies Beneath the flowery fingers of the June Harping to summer skies.

And then I dreamed the world I knew was gone, And some one brought,-- Leading me far o'er sainted hill and lawn, In heavenly thought,-- My soul where well the sources of the dawn With dew and fire fraught.

Above me the majestic dome of night, With star on star, Sparkled; in which one star shone blinding bright; Radiant as spar That walls the halls of morning, pearly white Around her golden car.

About me temples, vast in desert seas, Columned a land Of ruins--bones of old monstrosities God's awful hand Had smitten; homes of dead idolatries, O'erwhelmed with dust and sand.

Their bestial gods, caked thick with gems and gold, Their blasphemies Of beauty, rent; 'mid ruined altars rolled; Their agonies And rites abolished; and their priests of old-- Dust on the desert breeze.

Then Syrian valleys, purple with veiling mist, Meseemed I trailed, Where the frail floweret, by the dewdrop kissed, Soft-blushing, quailed; And drowned in dingled deeps of amethyst The moon-mad bulbul wailed.

On glimmering wolds I seemed to hear the bleat Of folded flocks: Then shepherds passed me, bare of head and feet; And then an ox Lowed; and, above me, swept the solemn beat Of angel wings and locks.

A manger then I seemed to see where bent, In adoration, Above a babe, Men of the Orient, Where, low of station, His mother lay, while round them swam sweet scent And sounds of jubilation.

And then I woke. The rose-white moon above Bloomed on my sight;-- And in her train the stars of winter drove, Light upon light; While Yuletide bells rocked, pealing "peace and love" Down all the aisles of night.

GRAMARYE

There are some things that entertain me more Than men or books; and to my knowledge seem A key of Poetry, made of magic lore Of childhood, opening many a fabled door Of superstition, mystery, and dream Enchantment locked of yore.

For, when through dusking woods my pathway lies, Often I feel old spells, as o'er me flits The bat, like some black thought that, troubled, flies Round some dark purpose; or before me cries The owl that, like an evil conscience, sits, A shadowy voice and eyes.

Then, when down blue canals of cloudy snow The white moon oars her boat, and woods vibrate With crickets, lo, I hear the hautboys blow Of Elfland; and, when gold the fireflies glow, See where the goblins hold a Fairy Fête With many a lanthorn-row.

Strange growths, that ooze from long-dead logs and spread A creamy fungus, where the snail, uncoiled, And fat slug feed at morn, are Pixy bread Made of the yeasted dew; the lichens red, Beside these grown, are meat the Brownies broiled Above a glow-worm bed.

The smears of silver on the webs that line The knuckled roots, or stretch, white-wov'n, within The hollow stump, are stains of Faery wine Spilled on the cloth where Elfland sat to dine, When night beheld them drinking, chin to chin, Of th' moon's fermented shine.

What but their chairs the mushrooms on the lawn, Or toadstools hidden under flower and fern, Tagged with the dotting dew!--With knees updrawn Far as his eyes, have I not come upon Puck seated there? but scarcely round could turn When, presto! he was gone.

And so though Science from the woods hath tracked The Elfin; and with prosy lights of day Unhallowed all his haunts; and, dulling, blacked Our vision, still hath Beauty never lacked For seers yet; who, in some wizard way, Prove fancy real as fact.

THE WORLD OF FAERY

I

When in the pansy-purpled stain Of sunset one far star is seen, Like one bright drop of rain, Out of the forest, deep and green, O'er me a Spirit seems to lean, The fairest of her train.

II

The Spirit, dowered with fadeless youth Of Lay and Legend, young as when, Close to her side, in sooth, She led me from the marts of men, A child, into her world, which then To me was true as truth.

III

Her hair is like the silken husk That holds the corn, the gloss that glows; Her brow is white as tusk; Her body is like some sweet rose, And through her gossamer raiment shows Like starlight closed in musk.

IV

She smiles at me; she nods at me; And by her looks I am beguiled Into the mystery Of ways I knew when, as a child, She led me 'mid her blossoms wild Of faery fantasy.

V

The blossoms that, when night is here, Become sweet mouths that sigh soft tales; Or, each, a jeweled ear Leaned to the elfin dance that trails Down moonrayed cirques of haunted vales To cricket song and cheer.

VI

The blossoms that, closed up all day,-- Primrose and poppy,--darkness opes, Slowly, to free a fay, Who, silken-soft, leaps forth and ropes With rain each web that, starlit, slopes Between each grassy spray.

VII

The blossoms from which elves are born,-- Sweet wombs of mingled scent and snow, Whose deeps are cool as morn; Wherein I oft have heard them blow Their pixy trumpets, silvery low As some bee's drowsy horn.

VIII

So was it when my childhood roamed The woodland's dim enchanted ground, Where every mushroom domed Its disc for them to revel round; Each glow-worm forged its flame,--green-drowned In hollow snow that foamed

IX

Of lilies,--for their lantern light, To lamp their dance beneath the moon; Each insect of the night,-- That rasped its thin, vibrating tune,-- And owl that raised its sleepy croon, Made music for their flight.

X

So is it still when twilight fills My soul with childhood's memories That haunt the far-off hills, And people with dim things the trees,-- With faery forms that no man sees, And dreams that no man kills.

XI

Then all around me sway and swing The Puck-lights of their firefly train, Their elfin revelling; And in the bursting pods, that rain Their seeds around my steps, again I hear their footsteps ring.

XII

The faery feet that fall once more Within my way;--and then I see,-- As oft I saw before,-- _Her_ Spirit rise, who shimmeringly Fills all my world with poetry,-- The Loveliness of Yore.

THERE ARE FAIRIES

I

There are fairies, bright of eye, Who the wildflowers' warders are: Ouphes, that chase the firefly, Elves, that ride the shooting-star: Fays, who in a cobweb lie, Swinging on a moonbeam bar; Or who harness bumble-bees, Grumbling on the clover leas, To a blossom or a breeze, That's their fairy car. If you care, you too may see There are fairies.--Verily, There are fairies.

II

There are fairies. I could swear I have seen them busy, where Roses loose their scented hair, In the moonlight weaving, weaving, Out of starlight and the dew, Glinting gown and shimmering shoe; Or, within a glow-worm lair, From the dark earth slowly heaving Mushrooms whiter than the moon, On whose tops they sit and croon, With their grig-like mandolins, To fair fairy ladykins, Leaning from the window-sill Of a rose or daffodil, Listening to their serenade All of cricket music made. Follow me, oh, follow me! Ho! away to Faerie! Where your eyes like mine may see There are fairies.--Verily, There are fairies.

III

There are fairies. Elves that swing In a wild and rainbow ring Through the air; or mount the wing Of a bat to courier news To the fairy King and Queen: Fays, who stretch the gossamers On which twilight hangs the dews; Who, within the moonlight sheen, Whisper dimly in the ears Of the flowers words so sweet That their hearts are turned to musk And to honey; things that beat In their veins of gold and blue: Ouphes, that shepherd moths of dusk-- Soft of wing and gray of hue-- Forth to pasture on the dew. There are fairies; verily; Verily; For the old owl in the tree, Hollow tree, He who maketh melody For them tripping merrily, Told it me. There are fairies.--Verily, There are fairies.

ON MIDSUMMER NIGHT

I

All the poppies, in their beds Nodding crumpled, crimson heads; And the larkspurs, in whose ears Twilight hangs, like twinkling tears, Sleepy jewels of the rain; All the violets, that strain Eyes of amaranthine gleam; And the clover-blooms that dream With pink baby-fists closed tight,-- They can hear upon this night, Noiseless as the moon's white light, Footsteps and the glimmering flight, Shimmering flight, Of the Fairies.

II

Every sturdy four-o'-clock, In its variegated frock; Every slender sweet-pea, too, In its hood of pearly hue; Every primrose pale that dozes By the wall and slow uncloses A sweet mouth of dewy dawn In a little silken yawn,-- On this night of silvery sheen, They can see the Fairy Queen, On her palfrey white, I ween, Tread dim cirques of haunted green, Moonlit green, With her Fairies.

III

Never a foxglove-bell, you see, That's a cradle for a bee; Never a lily, that's a house Where the butterfly may drowse; Never a rose-bud or a blossom, That unfolds its honeyed bosom To the moth, that nestles deep And there sucks itself to sleep,-- But can hear and also see, On this night of witchery, All that world of Faerie, All that world where airily, Merrily, Trip the Fairies.

IV

It was last Midsummer Night, In the moon's uncertain light, That I stood among the flowers, And, in language unlike ours, Heard them speaking of the Pixies, Trolls and Gnomes and Water-Nixes; How in _this_ flow'r's ear a Fay Hung a gem of rainy ray; And round _that_ flow'r's throat had set, Dim, a dewdrop carcanet; Then among the mignonette Stretched a cobweb-hammock wet, Dewy wet, For the Fairies.

V

Long I watched, but never a one, Ariel, Puck, or Oberon, Mab, or Queen Titania-- Fairest of them all they say-- Clad in morning-glory hues, Did I glimpse among the dews. Only once I thought the torch Of that elfin-rogue and arch, Robin Goodfellow, afar Flashed along a woodland bar-- Bright, a jack-o'-lantern star, A green lamp of firefly spar, Glow-worm spar, Loved of Fairies.

THE DANCE OF THE FAIRIES

On the glimmering coppice, From her shadowy hair, Long, silvery poppies Of moon-litten air The Night hath flung there.

In the fern-fronded hollow The fireflies stream, Uncertainly follow, With lanterns of gleam, Some spirit or dream.

The forest is fragrant; The night-hazes swirl And trail,--through the vagrant Deep ferns that unfurl,-- Faint footsteps of pearl.

From hill and from valley, Where the moon is at home; From rocks,--musically,-- Where singing streams comb Wild tresses of foam;

With a ripple and twinkle Of luminous arms, And footfalls that tinkle The darkness, in swarms Of flower-like forms:

We speed to the revel From bloom and from brier, With locks that dishevel, And feet, like the fire, Winged wild with desire.

Like the wind on the mountain, We circle and dance; Like the foam of the fountain, That sings of romance, We glimmer and glance.

Swift, swift we go swinging Down the slanted moonbeam, In spirals faint flinging A rainbow-rayed gleam On sward and on stream.

You may hear, like a murmur, The swirl of our hair; Our footfall; no firmer Than leaves on the air When branches blow bare.

To men who are favored In spiritual wise, Whose hearts have not quavered To see us, we rise And doff all disguise.

Come away then, come hither, In the moon-blossomed night! Ere the star-flowers wither, And Morning, the white, Reaps, mows them with light.

Come hither, where singing Sounds softer than tears, Or kisses, sweet clinging, Or music one hears With memory's ears.

Come join us, whose kisses Are waiting for you; Come, catch at our tresses, And dance through the dew! Come away, and pursue!

Come, come to the coppice, The violet ridge; The torrent, whose top is A rainbow,--a bridge We tread like the midge.--

Come, mortal, come hither! Come dance with your dreams, Ere the golden spark wither Of the glow-worm that gleams Like a star in still streams.

THE CHANGELING

In the night I heard the sea; Saw the round moon, white as wool, Or a bloom in Faerie, Rise above the hawthorn-tree, White and wonderful, Weird and wonderful.

Through the door there came to me Breezy whispers, fragrant as Wafts that rock the honey-bee, Cradled sweet in Arcady, In the bluebelled grass, In the rose-strewn grass.

Then I saw them; suddenly; Three red caps against the moon;-- And three voices whispered me, "We have come to dance for thee, Sing for thee a tune, Sing an elfin tune."

They were Fairies, Fairies three: Nearer to my crib they drew, Singing all the time to me, Till mine eyes closed dreamily, Closed, and naught I knew, And no more I knew.

While I slept I heard the three Whispering round my baby there, White as moonlit ivory, In its crib of ebony, All my joy and care, All my love and care.

Now I sit here, as you see, And my heart is all bereft, Sighing, singing wearily To this strange thing on my knee, This wild thing they left, Changeling that they left.

THE ELF-QUEEN

You ask me why I wandered wide When Summer sighed o'er dying June?-- To see the Fairy People ride Beneath the moon.

Wild poppies hedged a hawthorne copse, Where glow-worms hung dim lamps of gold; A sudden whisper bowed their tops, And then, behold!

Between the poppies and the mead I saw the Fairies riding down: One fair-faced Fairy in the lead Crowned with a crown.

The night was ringing with their reins, So loud the cricket hushed its song; Bells up and down their horses' manes Swung sweet along.

And whistles, that took all the wind With music when they shook their manes; So that the fields, before, behind, Rang with sweet strains.

And as their bridles chiming swung, The night seemed cured of every qualm; And my sick heart, so wild of tongue, Was almost calm.

The steeds they rode were fairy steeds, Of filmy form and gossamer green; And every elf was clad in weeds Of silken sheen.

Above, a beam of silver light Beat time to their wild fairy tune, And danced and glanced,--an elfin white Not of the moon.

They were so small the harebell's blue Had helmeted each tiny head, Save that fair Fay, who, tall as two, The Fairies led.

Dark tresses floated from a tire Of diamond sparks that snapped with light; And all her white sark seemed of fire Shimmering the night.

I would have thrown me at her feet And told her of my grief and pain; And she, perhaps, had helped me meet My love again.

Alas! a cock crew far away, A long-necked cry; and, swift as thought, The Elf-Queen and her company Passed into naught.

SONG OF THE ELF

I

Where the poppies, with their shields, Sentinel Forest and the harvest fields, In the bell Of a blossom, fair to see, There I stall the bumblebee, 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 Filched from bloom and bud.

II

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 light a wisp of broom; Or, beneath the owlet moon, Trip it to the cricket's tune Tossing back my locks.

III

Ere the crowfoot on the lawn Lifts its head, Or the glow-worm's light be gone, Dim and dead, In a cobweb-hammock I Swing between two ferns and lie Hid away; Where the drowsy musk-rose blows And a sleepy runnel flows, In the land of Faery, There I rock, where none can see, All the summer day.

AN ELF SWASHBUCKLER

Ho, my bullies, lift a tune To Queen Mab, and, come, make merry, By a mushroom in the moon, White as bud of berry!

Gentlemen, come! take your grog! Each one in his cap and mantlet: Who refuses is a dog!-- He must lift my gantlet!

Look! my gaberdine how brave! And my tunic, ouphen yellow! One a bat's-wing lately gave, And a frog its fellow.

And a moth's-head grew this fine Feather of my beetle-bonnet; See, my gnat-sting dagger's shine Hath its blood still on it.

Faith! this ring I wear, I swear, 'Twas Queen Mab who gave it: studded, As you see, with rubies rare-- Eyes of spiders blooded.

Doubt me, sirs, and by my blade!-- Sirrahs, a good stabbing hanger! From a hornet's stinger made!-- You may dread my anger!

Fill the lichen pottles up, Honey pressed from hearts of roses: Cheek by jowl, up with each cup, Till we hide our noses.

Good, sirs!--Marry!--'Twas the cock!-- Hey, away! the moon's lost fire!-- Ho! the cock! our dial and clock-- Hide beneath this brier!

ON THE EVE OF ST. JOHN

(_Scandinavian_)

Dizzily round, On the elf-hills, white in the mellow moonlight, To a sweet, unholy, ravishing sound Of wizard voices from underground, Their mazy dance the Elle-maids wound On St. John's Eve.

Beautiful white, Like a wreath of mist by the starbeams kissed, Their frail, sweet faces bloomed out of the night, With floating tresses of firefly light, That puffed like foam to the left and the right, On St. John's Eve.

Fitfully there They danced like the daughters of starlit waters,-- But I saw what a mockery all of them were, With their hollow bodies, when the moonlit air Rayed out of their eyes with a glow-worm glare, On St. John's Eve.

I turned my feet To the river's banks: in the rush-flowers' ranks I heard the Necken their songs repeat: A music all made of the water's beat, Of moss and of whispering winds that meet, On St. John's Eve.

They called my name; And I saw them there, in their beauty rare, On the moonlit waves whence the music came, With their harps of gold, and their locks of flame Blown over pale brows, sans sin or blame, On St. John's Eve.

'Twas nearing morn When I turned me home; and a wizen'd gnome, A Nis, all gray with flailing the corn, And strong with the scent of byre and barn, Scowled at me under the haunted thorn, On St. John's Eve.

To end it all, As I passed the hill by the ruined mill, The hill rose up on pillars tall, Crimson pillars that ranked a hall, Where the Dwarfs and the Trolls were holding a ball, On St. John's Eve.

One reached to me A goblet of gold of a vintage old, And I drank, and mixed with their mirth and glee, And danced with them for an hour, may be.-- But they tell me now 'tis a year, you see, Since St. John's Eve.

THE NIXIES

Deep down, beneath the waves, Great emerald-curving caves Dark-domed above it, Dim-walled with pearl and gold Glimmers their city old-- Hast thou heard of it?-- Where, through the long green nights, the spangling spars Twinkle like misty stars.

Where the wind-ripple rays, And the white water sprays Over the rocks, Sitting, they comb their hair; Singing, with fingers fair Braiding their locks; While round their loveliness of naked limbs The moon's gold glamour swims.

Or, on some stormy night, Seen through the glow-worm light Haunting the sands, Thou canst behold them drift Wild thro' the foam, and lift Pale arms and hands; Or, in the lightning's leap, along the lake, Dance in the tempest's wake.

Singing: "Come join our dance! Come, while the lightnings glance, Or when the moon Spills all her flowers of light At the dark feet of night; And soon, ah, soon, Within our shadowy halls thou shalt forget Earth's fever and its fret."

THE WATER-FAIRY