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246
THE DREAM FAY.
Hark! Am I with the living, or asleep,Hearing the grass blades grow;
The hush of blossoms opening soft and slow,
The buzzing gnats that secret revel keep;
Honey dropping tranquilly
From the gold cells of the bees,
Buds that on the dreaming trees
A wistful night-wind wakens tenderly;
Bubbles whispering in the grape;
Mystic sighs that find escape
From the earth's o'erladen breast,
Stirred with spring's divine unrest?
Hark! hark! from overhead
The soft stroke of a silver bell
Pulses through the airy spell!
Thrilled with some delicious dread,
I hear a low and joyful song;
Fleet, light footsteps of a throng
To mortal sight invisible;
Tiny laughters of a rill
The mountains from their white breasts spill;
Gentlest kisses that the rose,
Waking from the bud's repose,
Gives the daring butterfly
That lays its deep heart open to the sky.
247
The music of the thawing frost,
When the wood's light boughs are tossed,
And all their flashing jewels fall.
I hear the dropping of the dew,
Tinkling all the forest through;
And every dancing columbine
Clinks its cups of honeyed wine
With the harebell's goblet blue.
Hark! I hear the bells again.
'Tis the coming fairy train:
Bees are singing in the lime,
Bluebells ringing softest chime.
Sleeping birds that dream and sing,
Every head beneath a wing!
Doleful cricket! gossip fly!
Wake, oh wake! the Queen is nigh!
Every little brooklet's fall
Stir the night with madrigal!
Leaf and moss, and tiniest flower,
Wake! it is the fairy hour!
Hush, hush, it dies away,—
Beyond the verge of day.
Broken forever is that spell of power.
Here is but common clay,
Lamps, and the crowd's array,
The tramp of mortal tread.
That wand hath dropped; those dreams in darkness cower;
The hour has fled!
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