You quite mistake the sprite you chase. I'm of the under, not the upper, Order of the fairy race, And cannot go with you to supper. "You silly elf, Titania's self Will" — Tut, be there? My mirth she quenches, And her stiff airs kick me down-stairs To my dear kitchen cats and wenches. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE THREAD OF LIFE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TO A FLOWER by CORRINNE M. ARTHUR OUR BE'THPLEACE by WILLIAM BARNES ODE ENTREATING HIM ... IN THE CONTINUATION OF BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS by NICHOLAS BRETON |