  I When the poppies, with their shields, Sentinel Forest and the harvest fields, In the bell Of a blossom, fair to see, There I stall the bumble-bee, 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 Gathered from each 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 on 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, 'Twixt two ferns I swing and sleep, Hid away; Where the drowsy musk-rose blows And a dreamy runnel flows, In the land of FaËry, Where no mortal thing can see, All the elfin day. |
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