Three fairies by the Sangamon Were dancing for a prize. The rascals were alike indeed As they danced with drooping eyes. I gave the magic acorn To the one I loved the best, The imp that made me think of her My heart’s eternal guest, My lady of the tea-rose, my lady far away, Queen of the fleets of No-Man’s-Land That sail to old Cathay. How did the trifler hint of her? Ah, when the dance was done They begged me for the acorn, Laughing every one. Two had eyes of midnight, And one had golden eyes, And I gave the golden acorn To the scamp with golden eyes. Confessor Dandelion, My priest so grey and wise Whispered when I gave it To the girl with golden eyes: “She is like your Queen of Glory On China’s holy strand Who drove the coiling dragons Like doves before her hand.” COLD SUNBEAMS The Question: “Tell me, where do fairy queens Find their bridal veils?” The Answer: “If you were now a fairy queen Then I, your faithless page and bold Would win the realm by winning you. Your veil would be transparent gold White magic spiders wove for you At cold grey dawn, from sunbeams cold While robins sang amid the dew.” FOR ALL WHO EVER SENT LACE VALENTINES The little-boy lover And little-girl lover Met the first time At the house of a friend. And great the respect Of the little-boy lover. The awe and the fear of her Stayed to the end. The little girl chattered Incessantly chattered, Hardly would look When he tried to be nice. But deeply she trembled The little-girl lover, Eaten with flame While she tried to be ice. The lion of loving The terrible lion Woke in the two Long before they could wed. The world said: “Child hearts You must keep till the summer. It is not allowed That your hearts should be red.” If only a wizard A kindly grey wizard Had built them a house In a cave underground. With an emerald door, And honey to eat! But it seemed that no wizard Was waiting around. Oh children with fancies, The rarest of notions, The rarest of passions And hopes here below! Many a child, His young heart too timid Has fled from his princess No other to know. I have seen them with faces Like books out of Heaven, With messages there The harsh world should read, The lions and roses and lilies of love, Its tender, mystic, tyrannical need. Were I god of the village My servants should mate them. Were I priest of the church I would set them apart. If the wide state were mine It should live for such darlings, And hedge with all shelter The child-wedded heart. MY LADY IS COMPARED TO A YOUNG TREE