The Pixy People

It was just a very

Merry fairy dream!—

All the woods were airy

With the gloom and gleam;

Crickets in the clover

Clattered clear and strong,

And the bees droned over

Their old honey-song.

In the mossy passes,

Saucy grasshoppers

Leapt about the grasses

And the thistle-burrs;

And the whispered chuckle

Of the katydid

Shook the honeysuckle-

Blossoms where he hid.

Through the breezy mazes

Of the lazy June,

Drowsy with the hazes

Of the dreamy noon,

Little Pixy-people

Winged above the walk,

Pouring from the steeple

Of a mullein-stalk.

One—a gallant fellow—

Evidently King—

Wore a plume of yellow

In a jewelled ring

On a pansy bonnet,

Gold and white and blue,

With the dew still on it,

And the fragrance, too.

One—a dainty lady—

Evidently Queen—

Wore a gown of shady

Moonshine and green,

With a lace of gleaming

Starlight that sent

All the dewdrops dreaming

Everywhere she went.

One wore a waistcoat

Of roseleaves, out and in;

And one wore a faced-coat

Of tiger-lily-skin;

And one wore a neat coat

Of palest galingale;

And one a tiny street-coat,

And one a swallow-tail.

And Ho! sang the King of them,

And Hey! sang the Queen;

And round and round the ring of them

Went dancing o'er the green;

And Hey! sang the Queen of them,

And Ho! sang the King

And all that I had seen of them

—Wasn't anything!

It was just a very

Merry fairy dream!—

All the woods were airy

With the gloom and gleam;

Crickets in the clover

Clattered clear and strong,

And the bees droned over

Their old honey-song!