Queen Anne's Lace

There's an ivory-tinted, old-time flower That grows in many a place: By the roadside, or by ancient tower, You may find it any sweet summer hour, And they call it, "Queen Anne's Lace!"

But the little maidens of high degree All looked for such lace in vain; It is like the foam on waves o' the sea, Or the fabric the frost spins carelessly And hangs on the window pane.

Like a veil it floats up the hills and down, Tangling the dew in its net; Small wonder Queen Anne in her golden crown Would have given her burdensome velvet gown For a lace so gem-beset!

It blooms in old courtyards forgotten and grey, And in weed-grown castle moats; But often, at moonrise—well, so they say— The fairies come—and they take it away Just to trim their petticoats!