 | The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road |  |
169
MICHING MALLECHO.
“Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means
mischief.”—
Hamlet.
The crickets tease the dusk with tune,
And from the lily-padded pool
The green-frogs hail the rising moon,
Earth-summoned like a great toadstool.
And from the lily-padded pool
The green-frogs hail the rising moon,
Earth-summoned like a great toadstool.
The Elf of Mischief is abroad,
Torched by a jack-o'-lantern ray,
Hosting the woodland, rock and road,
With the wild minions of her play.
Torched by a jack-o'-lantern ray,
Hosting the woodland, rock and road,
With the wild minions of her play.
The spider casts a web across
Their revels that no eye perceives;
While slowly from concealing moss
The mushroom broad its table heaves.
Their revels that no eye perceives;
While slowly from concealing moss
The mushroom broad its table heaves.
The moth takes flight from bloom to bloom,
To courier news through all the dells;
And from the straitness of their room
The gnats put out their sentinels.
To courier news through all the dells;
And from the straitness of their room
The gnats put out their sentinels.
The beetle in the dead wood ticks—
An armored guard; the firefly,
With gleaming points, the darkness flicks—
The goblin watch of Witchery.
An armored guard; the firefly,
With gleaming points, the darkness flicks—
The goblin watch of Witchery.
170
This is the path the Queen will pass
Upon her palfried snail, as planned,
Where Mystery has gemmed the grass
With dew, dim-dropping from her hand.
Upon her palfried snail, as planned,
Where Mystery has gemmed the grass
With dew, dim-dropping from her hand.
The fairy-life is out and waits
Its Queen, who holds her audience
Here in the heart of her estates—
The angle of this old rail-fence.
Its Queen, who holds her audience
Here in the heart of her estates—
The angle of this old rail-fence.
Round which the flowers have built a bower
Of lace, above which soon the moon
Will hang her lamp, and at which hour
You, too, shall see their twinkling shoon.
Of lace, above which soon the moon
Will hang her lamp, and at which hour
You, too, shall see their twinkling shoon.
| The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road | |