Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 4 — Gramarye

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