IN THE SMALL HOURS

I lay in my bed and fiddled With a dreamland viol and bow, And the tunes flew back to my fingers I had melodied years ago. It was two or three in the morning When I fancy-fiddled so Long reels and country-dances, And hornpipes swift and slow.

And soon anon came crossing The chamber in the gray Figures of jigging fieldfolk— Saviours of corn and hay— To the air of “Haste to the Wedding,” As after a wedding-day; Yea, up and down the middle In windless whirls went they!

There danced the bride and bridegroom, And couples in a train, Gay partners time and travail Had longwhiles stilled amain! . . . It seemed a thing for weeping To find, at slumber’s wane And morning’s sly increeping, That Now, not Then, held reign.