Men upon earth Bring us to birth Gently at even and morn! When as brother and brother They greet one another And smile--then a fairy is born! But at each cruel word Upon earth that is heard, Each deed of unkindness or hate, Some fairy must pass From the games in the grass And steal thro’ the terrible Gate. _Passing away--flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf! Soon, soon will the year shed its bloom on her bier, and the dust of its dreams on our grief._ If ye knew, if ye knew All the wrong that ye do By the thought that ye harbour alone, How the face of some fairy Grows wistful and weary And the heart in her cold as a stone! Ah, she was born Blithe as the morn Under an April sky, Born of the greeting Of two lovers meeting! They parted, and so she must die! _Passing away--flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf!_ _Soon, soon will the year shed its bloom on her bier, and the dust of its dreams on our grief._ Cradled in blisses, Yea, born of your kisses, Oh, ye lovers that met by the moon, She would not have cried In the darkness and died If ye had not forgotten so soon! Cruel mortals, they say, Live for ever and aye, And they pray in the dark on their knees! But the flowers that are fled And the loves that are dead, What heaven takes pity on these? _Bear her along--singing your song--tender and sweet and low!_ _Fairies must die! Ask ye not why--ye that have hurt her so._ Passing away-- Flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf! Soon, soon will the year Shed its bloom on her bier And the dust of its dreams on our grief! * * * * * Then we came through a glittering crystal grot By a path like a pale moonbeam, And a broad blue bridge of Forget-me-not Over a shimmering stream, To where, through the deep blue dusk, a gleam Rose like the soul of the setting sun; A sunset breaking through the earth, A crimson sea of the poppies of dream, Deep as the sleep that gave them birth In the night where all earthly dreams are done. And then, like a pearl-pale porch of the moon, Faint and sweet as a starlit shrine, Over the gloom Of the crimson bloom We saw the Gates of Ivory shine; And, lulled and lured by the lullaby tune Of the cradling airs that drowsily creep From blossom to blossom, and lazily croon Through the heart of the midnight’s mystic noon, We came to the Gates of the City of Sleep.