Rare-sweet the air in that unimagined country-- My spirit had wandered far From its weary body close-enwrapt in slumber Where its home and earth-friends are; A milk-like air--and of light all abundance; And there a river clear Painting the scene like a picture on its bosom, Green foliage drifting near. No sign of life I saw, as I pressed onward, Fish, nor beast, nor bird, Till I came to a hill clothed in flowers to its summit, Then shrill small voices I heard. And I saw from concealment a company of elf-folk With faces strangely fair, Talking their unearthly scattered talk together, A bind of green-grasses in their hair, Marvellously gentle, feater far than children, In gesture, mien and speech, Hastening onward in translucent shafts of sunshine, And gossiping each with each. Straw-light their locks, on neck and shoulder falling, Faint of almond the silks they wore, Spun not of worm, but as if inwoven of moonbeams And foam on rock-bound shore; Like lank-legged grasshoppers in June-tide meadows, Amalillios of the day, Hungrily gazed upon by me--a stranger, In unknown regions astray. Yet, happy beyond words, I marked their sunlit faces, Stealing soft enchantment from their eyes, Tears in my own confusing their small image, Harkening their bird-like cries. They passed me, unseeing, a waft of flocking linnets; Sadly I fared on my way; And came in my dream to a dreamlike habitation, Close-shut, festooned and grey. Pausing, I gazed at the porch dust-still, vine-wreathèd, Worn the stone steps thereto, Mute hung its bell, whence a stony head looked downward, Grey 'gainst the sky's pale-blue-- Strange to me: strange.... THE HORN Hark! is that a horn I hear, In cloudland winding sweet-- And bell-like clash of bridle-rein, And silver-shod light feet? Is it the elfin laughter Of fairies riding faint and high, Beneath the branches of the moon, Straying through the starry sky? Is it in the globèd dew Such sweet melodies may fall? Wood and valley--all are still, Hushed the shepherd's call. [Illustration] THE THREE BEGGARS [Illustration] 'Twas autumn daybreak gold and wild, While past St. Ann's grey tower they shuffled, Three beggars spied a fairy-child In crimson mantle muffled. The daybreak lighted up her face All pink, and sharp, and emerald-eyed; She looked on them a little space, And shrill as hautboy cried:-- "O three tall footsore men of rags Which walking this gold morn I see, What will ye give me from your bags For fairy kisses three?" The first, that was a reddish man, Out of his bundle takes a crust: "La, by the tombstones of St. Ann, There's fee, if fee ye must!"