Iii

When the wind upon the water Seems a boat of ray and ripple, That some fairy moonbeam-daughter Steers, with sails that drift and dripple; When the sound of grig and cricket, Ever singing, ever humming, Seems a goblin in the thicket On his elfin viol strumming; When the toadstool, coned and milky, Heaves a roof for snails to clamber, Thistledown- and milkweed-silky, With loose locks of jade and amber, You may see the Little People, Underneath the pixy steeple Of a doméd mushroom, flock, Quaint in wildflower vest and frock, Whirling by the waning moon To the whippoorwill's weird tune, Till the cock, the far-off cock, Crows them they must vanish soon.