Minions Of The Moon

I.     Through leafy windows of the trees     The full moon shows a wrinkled face,     And, trailing dim her draperies     Of mist from place to place,     The Twilight leads the breeze.     And now, far-off, beside a pool,     Dusk blows a reed, a guttural note;     Then sows the air around her full     Of twinkling disc and mote,     And moth-shapes soft as wool.     And from a glen, where lights glow by,     Through hollowed hands she sends a call,     And Solitude, with owlet cry,     Answers: and Evenfall     Steps swiftly from the sky.     And Mystery, in hodden gray,     Steals forth to meet her: and the Dark     Before him slowly makes to sway     A jack-o'-lantern spark     To light him on his way.     The grasshopper its violin     Tunes up, the katydid its fife;     The beetle drums; the grig makes din,     Informing Elfin life     Night's revels now begin.     And from each side along the way     Old Witchcraft waves a batlike hand,     And summons forth the toadstool gray     To point the path to Faeryland,     Where all man's longings stray. II.     The snail puts forth two staring horns     And down the toadstool slides;     The wind sits whispering in the thorns     Of one unseen who hides:     Of him, the Sprite,     With glowworm light,     Who watchmans secrets of the Night.     The bee sleeps in the berry-bloom;     The bird dreams on its nest;     The moon-moth swoons through drowsed perfume     Upon a fragrant quest:     It seeks for him,     The Pixy slim,     Who tags with wet each wildflower's rim.     The milkwort leans an ear of pink     And listens for the dew;     The fireflies in the wildrose wink     That seems to listen too:     For her, the Fay,     With sword-like ray,     Who opens buds at close of day.     The moon, that dares not come too near,     Keeps to the highest hill;     The little brook it seems, for fear     Of something strange, is still:     The Mystery,     It well may be,     That talks to it of Faerie.