Ii

Every sturdy four-o'-clock, In its variegated frock; Every slender sweet-pea, too, In its hood of pearly hue; Every primrose pale that dozes By the wall and slow uncloses A sweet mouth of dewy dawn In a little silken yawn,-- On this night of silvery sheen, They can see the Fairy Queen, On her palfrey white, I ween, Tread dim cirques of haunted green, Moonlit green, With her Fairies.