Song of the Elf

When the poppies with their shield,

Sentinel

Forest and the harvest fields,

In the hill

Of a blossom, fair to see

There I stall the humble bee,

My good stud;

There I stable him and hold,

Harness him with fairy gold,

There I ease his burly back

Of the honey and its sack

Gathered from each bud.

Where the glowworm 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.

Ere the crowfoot on the lawn lifts its head,

Or the glowworm's light be gone

Dim and dead,

In a cobweb hammock deep

Twixt two ferns I swing and sleep

Hid away;

Where the drowsy musk-rose blows

And a dreamy runnel flows

In the land of Faery,

Where no mortal thing can see

All the elfin day.

—Madison Cawein.