THE FAY

In blue, cerise, and grey, A dainty, bonnie thing— No mortal—just a fay, From elfin glades astray, With joys the swallows bring When they come back with spring. She came with lovely mien— The charms of fairy’s art— No winsomer was seen, Not Titania, her queen. She flew into my heart To rest, and ne’er depart. My heart is beating high— The fay is singing there. Blest tenant, tell me why, Of mortals, why am I The happy one to dare Make captive, fay so rare? She answered in a song,— So soft and sweet the tune— “Pray, why? Have I done wrong To hide in heart so strong? Where I may place the boon Of all the joys of June?” Oh, winsome, witching sprite, Who like a mortal came, In robe of tender light, To make my hours so bright; Who brought me Love’s dear fame, To warm me at its flame.