And now the mysteries are all revealed That were so long, so ardently concealed-- All save the cake which still is in the making, Not yet smooth-iced and unprepared for taking The thirteen flames That start the noisy games Of tea-time, when my happy little maid Thrones it triumphant, teened and unafraid. So through the changing years may all delight Live in your face and make your being bright. May the good sprites and busy fays befriend you, And cheerful thoughts and innocent defend you; And, far away From this most joyous day, When in the chambers of your mind you see Those who have loved you, then remember me. THE DANCE When good-nights have been prattled, and prayers have been said, And the last little sunbeam is tucked up in bed, Then, skirting the trees on a carpet of snow, The elves and the fairies come out in a row. With a preening of wings They are forming in rings; Pirouetting and setting they cross and advance In a ripple of laughter, and pair for a dance. And it's oh for the boom of the fairy bassoon, And the oboes and horns as they strike up a tune, And the twang of the harps and the sigh of the lutes, And the clash of the cymbals, the purl of the flutes; And the fiddles sail in To the musical din, While the chief all on fire, with a flame for a hand, Rattles on the gay measure and stirs up his band. With a pointing of toes and a lifting of wrists They are off through the whirls and the twirls and the twists; Thread the mazes of marvellous figures, and chime With a bow to a curtsey, and always keep time: All the gallant and girls In their diamonds and pearls, And their gauze and their sparkles, designed for a dance By the leaders of fairy-land fashion in France. But the old lady fairies sit out by the trees, And the old beaux attend them as pert as you please. They quiz the young dancers and scorn their display, And deny any grace to the dance of to-day; "In Oberon's reign," So they're heard to complain, "When we went out at night we could temper our fun With some manners in dancing, but now there are none." But at last, though the music goes gallantly on, And the dancers are none of them weary or gone, When the gauze is in rags and the hair is awry, Comes a light in the East and a sudden cock-cry. With a scurry of fear Then they all disappear, Leaving never a trace of their gay little selves Or the winter-night dance of the fairies and elves. PANSIES Tufted and bunched and ranged with careless art Here, where the paving-stones are set apart, Alert and gay and innocent of guile, The little pansies nod their heads and smile. With what a whispering and a lulling sound They watch the children sport about the ground, Longing, it seems, to join the pretty play That laughs and runs the light-winged hours away. And other children long ago there were Who shone and played and made the garden fair, To whom the pansies in their robes of white And gold and purple gave a welcome bright.