Public-domain ebook
Language: en448 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Poetry·Poetry·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #12032.
The opening · free to read
As I lay awake in the white moonlight, I heard a faint singing in the wood, "Out of bed, Sleepyhead, Put your white foot, now; Here are we Beneath the tree Singing round the root now."
I looked out of window, in the white moonlight, The leaves were like snow in the wood-- "Come away, Child, and play Light with the gnomies; In a mound, Green and round, That's where their home is."
"Honey sweet, Curds to eat, Cream and frumenty, Shells and beads, Poppy seeds, You shall have plenty."
But, as soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight To put on my stocking and my shoe, The sweet shrill singing echoed faintly away, And the grey of the morning peeped through, And instead of the gnomies there came a red robin To sing of the buttercups and dew.
Where the primrose and the dew are-- Soon were sped the fairies all: Only now the green turf freshens, And the linnets call.
I watched the Lady Caroline Bind up her dark and beauteous hair; Her face was rosy in the glass, And 'twixt the coils her hands would pass, White in the candleshine.
Her bottles on the table lay, Stoppered, yet sweet of violet; Her image in the mirror stooped To view those locks as lightly looped As cherry boughs in May.
The snowy night lay dim without, I heard the Waits their sweet song sing; The window smouldered keen with frost; Yet still she twisted, sleeked and tossed Her beauteous hair about.
If I were Lord of Tartary, Myself and me alone, My bed should be of ivory, Of beaten gold my throne; And in my court would peacocks flaunt, And in my forests tigers haunt, And in my pools great fishes slant Their fins athwart the sun.
If I were Lord of Tartary, Trumpeters every day To every meal should summon me, And in my courtyard bray; And in the evening lamps would shine, Yellow as honey, red as wine, While harp, and flute, and mandoline, Made music sweet and gay.
If I were Lord of Tartary, I'd wear a robe of beads, White, and gold, and green they'd be-- And clustered thick as seeds; And ere should wane the morning-star, I'd don my robe and scimitar, And zebras seven should draw my car Through Tartary's dark glades.
Lord of the fruits of Tartary, Her rivers silver-pale! Lord of the hills of Tartary, Glen, thicket, wood, and dale! Her flashing stars, her scented breeze, Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas, Her bird-delighting citron-trees In every purple vale!
In the black furrow of a field I saw an old witch-hare this night; And she cocked a lissome ear, And she eyed the moon so bright, And she nibbled of the green; And I whispered "Wh-s-st! witch-hare," Away like a ghostie o'er the field She fled, and left the moonlight there.
"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy; "Pomegranates pink," says Elaine; "A junket of cream and a cranberry tart For me," says Jane.
"Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy; "Primroses pale," says Elaine; "A nosegay of pinks and mignonette For me," says Jane.
"Chariots of gold," says Timothy; "Silvery wings," says Elaine; "A bumpity ride in a waggon of hay For me," says Jane.
He read no book, he snuffed no candle; The rats ran in, the rats ran out; And far and near, the drip of water Went whispering about.
The dusk was still, with dew a-falling, I saw the Dog Star bleak and grim, I saw a slim brown rat of Norway Creep over him.
I spied John Mouldy in his cellar, Deep down twenty steps of stone; In the dusk he sat a-smiling, Smiling there alone.
O for a moon to light me home! O for a lanthorn green! For those sweet stars the Pleiades, That glitter in the darkling trees; O for a lovelorn taper! O For a lanthorn green!
O for a frock of tartan! O for clear, wild grey eyes! For fingers light as violets, 'Neath branches that the blackbird frets; O for a thistly meadow! O For clear, wild grey eyes!
O for a heart like almond boughs! O for sweet thoughts like rain! O for first-love like fields of grey Shut April-buds at break of day! O for a sleep like music! Dreams still as rain!
I saw three witches That bowed down like barley, And straddled their brooms 'neath a louring sky, And, mounting a storm-cloud, Aloft on its margin, Stood black in the silver as up they did fly.
I saw three witches That mocked the poor sparrows They carried in cages of wicker along, Till a hawk from his eyrie Swooped down like an arrow, Smote on the cages, and ended their song.
I saw three witches That sailed in a shallop, All turning their heads with a snickering smile, Till a bank of green osiers Concealed their grim faces, Though I heard them lamenting for many a mile.
I saw three witches Asleep in a valley, Their heads in a row, like stones in a flood, Till the moon, creeping upward, Looked white through the valley, And turned them to bushes in bright scarlet bud.
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