  A SECRET glen engirt by hills serene Sleeps in rich gloom of summer boscage green; Its dreamy dells, in solemn twilight hush, Echo dulce warblings of the hermit-thrush; Kist by young May, the windflower trembles there, And frail dicentra breathes the dainty air; The haunt beseems for elfin revels planned, And so the children call it Fairyland. A silvern rill, loved by the watercress, Winds purling through this drowsy wilderness, Suckling the willow, snowy-corymbed haw, Vain-flaunting redbud, indolent pawpaw, Suave linden, and gay buckeye brimming free His nectar cups to lure the drunken bee; Aloof, in coats of pearl-green armor, stand Three sycamores, to guard the Fairyland. The busy grapevine o’er the coppice weaves A cunning mesh of interlacing leaves, Whereon adventurous urchins clamber high, With giddy shout saluting the blue sky; Or loll in golden sunshine baptismal, Inhaling balm of buds ambrosial, And, by hilarious breezes rocked and fanned, Through loops of verdure gaze from Fairyland. Ere dies on heaven’s breast the morning star, All unsubstantial, visionary, far, In opalescent vapor loom the glades, Dawn-rosy domes, dim grottoes and arcades, Of yon enchanted dingles of the fay; Behold! transmuted in the sheen of day, By aureolar rays of Iris spanned, A bower of dewdrops, glitters Fairyland! When dusk descends, the eerie host delight As twinkling fireflies to bestar the night; Then melancholy tree-toads shrill the throat, And chirring crickets chime an irksome note; Flits the lean bat the timorous wren to fray; The muffled screech-owl hurtles on his prey; For evil wings a gruesome hour command, Though holy stars keep watch o’er Fairyland. All demonkind, or wicked, null, or good, Lurk in the hollows of the sprightful wood; There murk fogs drop distillings of the sea; The weird moon plies her midnight witchery; Time slumbers there; there Love and Beauty sport; And Death holds there his grim, fantastic court; No ghost may blab, no mortal understand The mystic wonders of our Fairyland. |
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