FAIRIES AND NAUTILUS _Front._ FAIRIES IN BOAT 7 FAIRIES AND BOWER 14 SLEEPING FAIRIES 22 FAIRY RIDING ON CRAY-FISH 28 FAIRIES AND SQUIRREL 33 FAIRIES AND JONQUILS 41 FAIRIES AND FROG 47 FAIRY ON MUSHROOM 52 FAIRIES RIDING ON FISH 58 FAIRY AND WASP 62 FAIRIES UNDER MUSHROOM 66 THREE SUNSETS. He saw her once, and in the glance, A moment's glance of meeting eyes, His heart stood still in sudden trance: He trembled with a sweet surprise-- All in the waning light she stood, The star of perfect womanhood. That summer-eve his heart was light: With lighter step he trod the ground: And life was fairer in his sight, And music was in every sound: He blessed the world where there could be So beautiful a thing as she. There once again, as evening fell And stars were peering overhead, Two lovers met to bid farewell: The western sun gleamed faint and red, Lost in a drift of purple cloud That wrapped him like a funeral-shroud. Long time the memory of that night-- The hand that clasped, the lips that kissed, The form that faded from his sight Slow sinking through the tearful mist-- In dreamy music seemed to roll Through the dark chambers of his soul. So after many years he came A wanderer from a distant shore: The street, the house, were still the same, But those he sought were there no more: His burning words, his hopes and fears, Unheeded fell on alien ears. Only the children from their play Would pause the mournful tale to hear, Shrinking in half-alarm away, Or, step by step, would venture near To touch with timid curious hands That strange wild man from other lands. He sat beside the busy street, There, where he last had seen her face: And thronging memories, bitter-sweet, Seemed yet to haunt the ancient place: Her footfall ever floated near: Her voice was ever in his ear. He sometimes, as the daylight waned And evening mists began to roll, In half-soliloquy complained Of that black shadow on his soul, And blindly fanned, with cruel care, The ashes of a vain despair. The summer fled: the lonely man Still lingered out the lessening days; Still, as the night drew on, would scan Each passing face with closer gaze-- Till, sick at heart, he turned away, And sighed "she will not come to-day." So by degrees his spirit bent To mock its own despairing cry, In stern self-torture to invent New luxuries of agony, And people all the vacant space With visions of her perfect face.