Queen Mab! Queen Mab! Awake! Awake! A primrose blooms In the woodland brake. From thy sleepy lips Has tumbled a smile Which lies a-blossoming Near the stile. A primrose blooms In the woodland brake! Queen Mab! Queen Mab! Awake! Awake! _A blue tit from a neighbourly silver birch softly mimics the trills after the last line._ QUEEN MAB (_half opening her eyes_): O tiresome bird, one primrose does not bring The warm sweet days for which I yearning wait. Know, I have seen the hillside amber-pied With primroses, and yet a fierce gale swept Adown the dale. Primroses are brave, But, tho' they blossom, leave me to my dreams. _Once more she nestles among the jade-green moss and sleeps for a week._ THE THRUSH (_louder and clearer_): Queen Mab! Queen Mab! From thy faerie dream Has sped a laugh Like a sunny gleam Which springs to earth A daffy-down-dill That merrily flouts At the purling rill, Thy laugh has sped O'er the hillside grey: Queen Mab! Queen Mab! Listen my lay! _The cuckoo calls wistfully from down-dale, but_ QUEEN MAB _does not hear him._ QUEEN MAB (_stretching her small white arms and yawning dreamily_): Methinks the air feels warmer, and the sky Seems bluer, yet mine eyes are loath to ope. I will not wake at once: How the birds sing! I did not think the world held so much song. That note's a blackbird's; that's a finch's call; A wren has whispered secrets to his mate; Two doves are cooing where green curtains hang, Half shyly, lest their love-songs should be heard; Yet, 'tis not spring until the cuckoo cries. _The cuckoo's voice is heard nearer, coming from Bolton Abbey, and a second voice answers,_ Cuckoo! Cuckoo! From Barden Fell. THE THRUSH (_his voice jubilantly strong_): Queen Mab! Queen Mab! Thy hyacinth eyes Have filled the coppice With azure sighs. My loved little queen Of windflower feet, Of daffodil-laughter So primrose-sweet! The rippling wood Is a bluey lake. Queen Mab! Queen Mab! Awake! Awake! QUEEN MAB (_wide awake now, springs from her couch and curtsies to the World, north, south, east, and west, then raises her arms to the Sun_): Gold Sun, I greet thee; do not hide thy face Too soon behind the wistful little hills. Thou art my lover, faithless, fickle, fair, And leav'st me all too soon; my kingdom's naught Without thy splendid presence; stay awhile. Old World, old wrinkled granddame, thee I greet; Thy loving smile renews thy youth once more. For months I slept upon thy broad brown breast; I thank thee, granddame, for so good a rest.