OLD lame Bridget doesn't hear Fairy music in the grass When the gloaming's on the mere And the shadow people pass: Never hears their slow grey feet Coming from the village street Just beyond the parson's wall, Where the clover globes are sweet And the mushroom's parasol Opens in the moonlit rain. Every night I hear them call From their long and merry train. Old lame Bridget says to me, "It is just your fancy, child." She cannot believe I see Laughing faces in the wild, Hands that twinkle in the sedge Bowing at the water's edge Where the finny minnows quiver, Shaping on a blue wave's ledge Bubble foam to sail the river. And the sunny hands to me Beckon ever, beckon ever. Oh! I would be wild and free And with the shadow people be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT DOVER CLIFFS, JULY 20, 1787 by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES A WINTER TWILIGHT by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE VILLANELLE, WITH STEVENSON'S ASSISTANCE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ON SEEING BLENHEIM CASTLE by LUCY AIKEN THE WINGLESS VICTORY by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. SONNET TO THE KYNGE by THEODORE AGRIPPA D' AUBIGNE |