. . .And stole within its purple shade. And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above, below, on every side, Their little minim forms arrayed In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride. They come not now to print the lea, In freak and dance around the tree, Or at the mushroom board to sup And drink the dew from the buttercup. A scene of sorrow waits them now, For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow He has loved an earthly maid, And left for her his woodland shade; He has lain upon her lip of dew, And sunned him in her eye of blue, Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, Played in the ringlets of her hair, And, nestling on her snowy breast, Forgot the lily-king's behest. For this the shadowy tribes of air To the elfin court must haste away; And now the. . . Read More