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.