Iii

Never a foxglove-bell, you see, That's a cradle for a bee; Never a lily, that's a house Where the butterfly may drowse; Never a rose-bud or a blossom, That unfolds its honeyed bosom To the moth, that nestles deep And there sucks itself to sleep,-- But can hear and also see, On this night of witchery, All that world of Faerie, All that world where airily, Merrily, Trip the Fairies.