Puck's Dance
Over leagues of ferny forest,
O'er fields by moonlight kiss'd,
Can you spy the one that dances
Through the evanescing mist?
Know you the name he goes by?
This cavorting, merry sprite?
Might he be – not Robin Goodfellow!
Not that shifter of the night.
Know the pale face is watching
Ever searching for his prize
And his fever'd longing sparkles
In the depths of mossy eyes.
Gentle moon is wax'd and pearly
Thus she reaches out white arms
And with sickly eyes she watches
Wild lunacy in Puck's dance.
With right hand he sews the heavens
Other cradles tender moon,
Even lilies turn to facehim
And to meditate his tune.
This shadow's not without design
As he skims night's velvet drapes
O, to to lighten love's soft-focus
O, to tamper with the fates!
Diana serves as his accomplice
When the fateful bloom he spies
He plucks it – so! As was instructed
By the Shadow King's device.
Tho' the lilies wail him warnings
Though their moans are on deaf ears
"Dearest Lilies' asks he softly
'Weres't ye grown on maiden's tears?
And with cryptic phrase he's left them
As his form fades from their sight
The lilies mourn love forever slain
Twisted by a knavish sprite.