faery
There are strange fields that lie
Under gum trees,
Where the laughter of the magpie
And the murmur of the gadfly.
Mingle with the breeze.
There are black pines that sway
Over orchids,
Where the fragrance of the thicket,
And the chatter of the cricket,
Intoxicate the day.
There has the wind forgot
To shriek in misery,
And there has the sun forgot
His scorching cruelty;
Only the moon is wont
To spread her wizardry.
There are long roads twisting
Under thick gloom,
Where the quiver of a mystery
And the shiver of an ecstasy
Foretell a rushing doom,
And weave a faery loom
For thee—Oh, unbeliever—
A faery loom—
A rushing doom—
For thee. —S.G.M.