Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 4 — Faery Morris

I

The winds are whist; and, hid in mist, The moon hangs o'er the wooded height: The bushy bee, with unkempt head, Hath made the sunflower's disk his bed, And sleeps half-hid from sight.

The owlet makes us melody-- Come dance with us in Faery, Come dance with us to-night.

II

The dew is damp; the glow-worm's lamp Blurs in the moss its tawny light: The great gray moth sinks, half-asleep, Where, in an elfin-laundered heap, The lily-gowns hang white.

The crickets make us minstrelsy-- Come dance with us in Faery, Come dance with us to-night.

III

With scents of heat, dew-chilled and sweet, The new-cut hay smells by the bight: The ghost of some dead pansy bloom The butterfly seems, in the gloom, Its pied wings folded tight.

The world is drowned in fantasy-- Come dance with us in Faery, Come dance with us to-night.

THE LITTLE PEOPLE