University of Virginia Library

Play on, play on, the low lights wane,
So, softly, softly play!
For your fingers draw me away, away,
And dreamland comes again.
Are you 'ware of little stars in a pale sky!
Play on,—and say no word!—
There is scarce the breath of a midnight sigh?
Or a frond of the fern-wood stirred;
Was there ever a night so magic still?
Only a low moon is peeping
Through the sway of aspens sleeping,
And a ripple frets the rushes in the rill:
Are you 'ware of little feet upon the grass,
Tripping, rushing,
Hardly brushing
Any feather of the frailest as they pass,
Of a twinkle of infinite tiny feet,
And the kissing of tiny kisses,—
Never was night so summer-sweet
Blessed of the moon as this is!
They are threading in endless mazes,
Lifting the drowsy fold
Of the lids of the sleeping daisies
For a look at the eyes of gold:
Gossamer robes of delicate weft
Cling light on the moony air,
Rosy petals, a pardoned theft,
Are bound on the streaming hair;—
Now round and round in a linking chain,
Round and round and away again!
They are dancing to the ripple they are moving,
Keeping time to the glinting of the star;
There's a glowworm for the lantern of their loving,
And wedding bells are ringing where the heather-flowers are.

Can you hear their little voices, you would hear
If it were not for the ripple on the stream:
Still, for a moment,—now you hear,
Marvellous sweetly, clear and near,
Under that silver beam,
Songs of a wonder-world, my dear,
World of a wonder-dream.