While clouds yet slumbered in their fold, Ere sun, God's glorious marigold, Pushed forth his fervent, fiery head To shine above the garden bed Of earth, whose blooms are hours, Spinney and woodland's entries through Those morning-glory trumpets blew That summoned forth the flowers: "Now haste ye, Mab's sweet abigails, And dress your queen for day! With flounces and with furbelows, With silver shoes and ribband bows. The dawn comes up this way -- Tara! The dawn comes up this way!" Her violet eyes wee hands unclose, And sweetly, sweetly up she rose. Her robing-room is damask-dark Wherein the fireflies touch their spark To tapers hung on high. So cherished and so dainty-sweet -- Her maidens kneel before her feet To do her courtesy! For equerries she shall not lack, Jack-booted, bee-bestriding, To hand her up a-cricket-back And squire her down the green wood track All in her early riding -- Oh, All in her early riding! For they do tell, oh, they do tell, The charmed Caterpillar Dell Holds bearded bravos, fuzzed o' fear, At passers-by that growl and rear On greedy tribute bent! But Mab's brave squires' blades be good That slew the toad o' Bullrush Wood, And sword-play is their stent! This do I know who peer between The grass blades every morn, And mosses find the green demesne Of many a crowned king and queen -- For I was Elfland-born, My dear! Yes, I was Elfland-born! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |