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Pale fairy dancers
Spin in haze of morning mist
Wearing spider's webs

haiku by Dorothy Holmes (09 February 2008)
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Spin In The Black Circle

See this needle...a see my hand...
Drop, drop, dropping it down...oh, so gently...
Well here it comes...i touch the plane...
Turn me up...wont turn you away...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...spin the black, spin the black...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...whoa...
Pull it out...a paper sleeve...
Oh, my joy...only you deserve conceit...
Im so big...a-my whole world...
Id rather you...rather you...than her...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...spin the black, spin the black...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...whoa...oh...
Youre so warm...oh, the ritual...when I lay down your crooked arm...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...spin the black, spin the black...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...
Spin the black (5x)circle
Spin the black circle... (4x)
Spin, spin... (6x)

song performed by Pearl Jam
Added by Lucian Velea
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Spin, Spin, Spin

Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
The harlequin dances in a costume of green
Spin around
But under his makeup his age can't be seen
Spin around
But where are you spinnin'
When will you know
That life is for livin'
That it isn't a show?
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
You look out on the city from your penthouse so high
Spin around
But your pedestal's your prison and so is your high
Spin around
But where are you spinnin'
When will you know
That life is for livin'
That it isn't a show?
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
Your pills are you conscience
They make ev'rything seem all right
Spin around
Take a white one go to sleep
Take a red one to stay up all night
To spin around
But where are you spinnin'
When will you know
That life is for livin'
That it isn't a show?
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
Spin, spin, spin
Spin away, spin away
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around

song performed by Jim Croce
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sinner and The Spider

Sinner.

What black, what ugly crawling thing art thou?

Spider.

I am a spider——————-

Sinner.

A spider, ay, also a filthy creature.

Spider.

Not filthy as thyself in name or feature.
My name entailed is to my creation,
My features from the God of thy salvation.

Sinner.

I am a man, and in God's image made,
I have a soul shall neither die nor fade,
God has possessed me with human reason,
Speak not against me lest thou speakest treason.
For if I am the image of my Maker,
Of slanders laid on me He is partaker.

Spider.

I know thou art a creature far above me,
Therefore I shun, I fear, and also love thee.
But though thy God hath made thee such a creature,
Thou hast against him often played the traitor.
Thy sin has fetched thee down: leave off to boast;
Nature thou hast defiled, God's image lost.
Yea, thou thyself a very beast hast made,
And art become like grass, which soon doth fade.
Thy soul, thy reason, yea, thy spotless state,
Sin has subjected to th' most dreadful fate.
But I retain my primitive condition,
I've all but what I lost by thy ambition.

Sinner.

Thou venomed thing, I know not what to call thee,
The dregs of nature surely did befall thee,
Thou wast made of the dross and scum of all,
Man hates thee; doth, in scorn, thee spider call.

Spider.

[...] Read more

poem by John Bunyan
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Tennants Anster Fair

I.

'TIS the middle watch of a summer's night -
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;
Nought is seen in the vault on high
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky,
And the flood which rolls its milky hue,
A river of light on the welkin blue.
The moon looks down on old Cronest,
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast,
And seems his huge gray form to throw
In a sliver cone on the wave below;

His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark -
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.

II.

The stars are on the moving stream,
And fling, as its ripples gently flow,
A burnished length of wavy beam
In an eel-like, spiral line below;
The winds are whist, and the owl is still,
The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,
And nought is heard on the lonely hill
But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill
Of the gauze-winged katy-did;
And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will,
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings,
Ever a note of wail and wo,
Till morning spreads her rosy wings,
And earth and sky in her glances glow.

III.

'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;
He has counted them all with click and stroke,
Deep in the heart of the mountain oak,
And he has awakened the sentry elve
Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,
To bid him ring the hour of twelve,
And call the fays to their revelry;
Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell -
('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell:- )
"Midnight comes, and all is well!

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Rodman Drake
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The Culprit Fay

'TIS the middle watch of a summer's night -
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;
Nought is seen in the vault on high
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky,
And the flood which rolls its milky hue,
A river of light on the welkin blue.
The moon looks down on old Cronest,
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast,
And seems his huge gray form to throw
In a sliver cone on the wave below;

His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark -
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.

II.

The stars are on the moving stream,
And fling, as its ripples gently flow,
A burnished length of wavy beam
In an eel-like, spiral line below;
The winds are whist, and the owl is still,
The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,
And nought is heard on the lonely hill
But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill
Of the gauze-winged katy-did;
And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will,
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings,
Ever a note of wail and wo,
Till morning spreads her rosy wings,
And earth and sky in her glances glow.

III.

'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;
He has counted them all with click and stroke,
Deep in the heart of the mountain oak,
And he has awakened the sentry elve
Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,
To bid him ring the hour of twelve,
And call the fays to their revelry;
Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell -
('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell:- )
'Midnight comes, and all is well!
Hither, hither, wing your way!
'Tis the dawn of the fairy day.'

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Rodman Drake
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(Freedom poems) Fairy child

Fairy child
You child of a god
Fairy child
You have given
up your freedom
Fairy
Fairy child
And now you roam
our world free
Fairy child
because
you know no borders
and your education
Ain't enough fairy child
So you cross borders
to disrespect international
Treaties
You're wanted by INTERPOL
(Can you spell that out loud?)
and the host of
The international agencies
you fairy child
You will know forwards
Fairy child
That the world serves
the interests of one
Super state
When the sanctions
begin to bite fairy child
You will cry like your
Fairy mama fairy
Because here there's
the scarcity
of the sanctions busters
Fairy child
You better go away fairy child
And find yourself
A love mate in Tokyo
Fairy child
'Cause in Tel Aviv
They hunt down the black
infiltrators
Yes they do fairy child
'cause they fear the black brothers
'cause they and the Israelis
Share the same black ancestor fairy child
You better run my brother
And fall in love and marry yourself
off to a Ethiop woman
To get a alien citizenship fairy child

[...] Read more

poem by Ngaka Motaung
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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies

I

'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime,

II

So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;—
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
To some unwasted regions of my brain,
Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat,
And bade that bounteous season bloom again,
And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain.

III

It was a shady and sequester'd scene,
Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio,
Planted with his own laurels evergreen,
And roses that for endless summer blow;
And there were fountain springs to overflow
Their marble basins,—and cool green arcades
Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw
Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades,—
With timid coneys cropping the green blades.

IV

And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish,
Argent and gold; and some of Tyrian skin,
Some crimson-barr'd;—and ever at a wish
They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin
As glass upon their backs, and then dived in,
Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom;
Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win
My changeable regard,—for so we doom
Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Hood
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Spin You Around

Ooooo
Come on over the mountain
And I'll meet you at the otherside
Come on over the mountain
And I'll meet you at the otherside, yeah
If I saw you dancing
I would spin you around, spin you around
If I saw you dancing
I would spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
Ooooo
I'd spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
Spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
If you'll be my woman
I will take you to another side
If you'll be my lady
I will take you for another ride
If I saw you dancing
I would spin you around, spin you around
If I saw you dancing
I would spin you around, spin you around
Spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
Spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
I can turn you around
I'd spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
Spin you around, spin you around
Turn your world upside down
Oooooo
Maybe, baby
Upside down
I'm gonna spin you around
Maybe, lady
Upside down
I'm gonna spin you

song performed by Puddle Of Mudd
Added by Lucian Velea
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Spin, Spin

So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and Im caught again!
In the web of wild design,
I do not know what fate is mine!
All the day sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
And my daddy said when I was young,
Beware the web of love, my son,
To be in love is to be insane,
Make an old man groan, a young man pain!
All the day, sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Then I did go and the time did fly,
Many a true love passed me by.
And then you came like a blinding storm,
I landed in your web so warm,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and Im caught again!
In the web of wild desire,
And I cannot control the fire!
All the day sit and spin,
You spin your web and you draw me in.

song performed by Gordon Lightfoot
Added by Lucian Velea
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Spin, Spin (New York Remake Version)

So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and I'm caught again!
In the web of wild design,
I do not know what fate is mine!
All the day sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
And my daddy said when I was young,
"Beware the web of love, my son,
To be in love is to be insane,
Make an old man groan, a young man pain!"
All the day, sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Then I did go and the time did fly,
Many a true love passed me by.
And then you came like a blinding storm,
I landed in your web so warm,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and I'm caught again!
In the web of wild desire,
And I cannot control the fire!
All the day sit and spin,
You spin your web and you draw me in.

song performed by Gordon Lightfoot
Added by Lucian Velea
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Spin It On

(this is it)
Spin it on, dont stop. take it back to the top.
cos I gotwhole lotta love for you
I wanna spin it on. spin it on!
Off to the flicks with the piddle in her nicks, to the fair with her hair in curlers.
Their cousins didnt get all down to the pleasure dome
Their cousins didnt send their night in an aircraft hanger.
Memories . . .!
Spin it on, dont stop. take it back to the top.
cos I got whole lotta love for you
Thats why I wanna spin it on. spin it on! spin it on!
Spin it on!
Spin it on, dont stop. take it back to the top
cos I got whole lotta love for you
Thats why I wanna spin it on. spin it on!
Off to the fields with a missionarys zeal for the life of the wife of the farmer
Their cousins didnt get all down to the billiard hall
Their cousins didnt spend their time on a pinball table.
Memories . . .!
Spin it on, dont stop. take it back to the top
cos I got whole lotta love for you.
I wanna spin it on. spin it on!
Spin it on! spin it on! I wanna spin it on! I wanna spin it on!
Spin it on! dont stop! take it back to the top!
cos I got a whole lotta for you!

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kensington Garden

______ Campos, ubi Troja fuit.
Virg.

Where Kensington, high o'er the neighbouring lands
Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabric, stands,
And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers,
A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers,
The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair
To gravel walks, and unpolluted air.
Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies,
They breathe in sun-shine, and see azure skies;
Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread,
Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed,
Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow,
And chints, the rival of the showery bow.
Here England's daughter, darling of the land,
Sometimes, surrounded with her virgin band,
Gleams through the shades. She, towering o'er the rest,
Stands fairest of the fairer kind confest,
Form'd to gain hearts, that Brunswick's cause deny'd,
And charm a people to her father's side.
Long have these groves to royal guests been known,
Nor Nassau first prefer'd them to a throne.
Ere Norman banners wav'd in British air;
Ere lordly Hubba with the golden hair
Pour'd in his Danes; ere elder Julius came;
Or Dardan Brutus gave our isle a name;
A prince of Albion's lineage grac'd the wood,
The scene of wars, and stain'd with lovers' blood.
You, who thro' gazing crowds, your captive throng,
Throw pangs and passions, as you move along,
Turn on the left, ye fair, your radiant eyes,
Where all unlevel'd the gay garden lies:
If generous anguish for another's pains
Ere heav'd your hearts, or shiver'd through your veins,
Look down attentive on the pleasing dale,
And listen to my melancholy tale.
That hollow space, were now in living rows
Line above line the yew's sad verdure grows,
Was, ere the planter's hand its beauty gave,
A common pit, a rude unfashion'd cave.
The landscape now so sweet we well may praise:
But far, far sweeter in its ancient days,
Far sweeter was it, when its peopled ground
With fairy domes and dazzling towers was crown'd.
Where in the midst those verdant pillars spring,
Rose the proud palace of the Elfin king;
For every edge of vegetable green,
In happier years a crowded street was seen;

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Tickell
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Fairy Tale High

On a fairy tale high
Don't you believe that your dreams all come true
The fairy tale world inside can bring it to you
You just have to wish, and you'll take off and fly
On a fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high
On a fairy tale high
Just look around you, the dark clouds are far
Stand on your tiptoes, and reach for a star
As stardust comes sprinkling, it will brighten your eyes
On a fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high, fairy tale high
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher

song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fanciful Dream

I left my love in the Fairy Glen
Home of the litte fairy men
I met her there on a July night
When a Summer moon was beaming bright.

For my love was the Fairy Queen
In Fairyland she reign supreme
She wore a glittering diamond cloak
Queen of the little fairy folk.

Though the night was bright it was bright as day
In a wooded vale I lost my way
Then I sat me down by a tall oak tree
And the Fairy Queen she came to me.

I gazed upon this fairy small
She stood scarcely more than two foot tall
Tiny shoes covered her tiny feet
And she bowed towards me in a fairy greet

Her pretty little face showed no trace of woe
And her hair was white as new fallen snow
And her eyes were sparkling bright and brown
And on her head she wore a tiny crown.

Then she smiled at me and this did say
You're in Fairyland you have lost your way
Sorry to disturb you from your rest
Come along with me and be my guest.

Then she led me to the fairy ball
To a fairy dance in a fairy hall
All the fairy folk were dancing there
And fairy music filled the air.

But when we stepped inside the fairy dance hall door
A hushed silence fell across the floor
Fairy men and women scarce one third my size
All looked up at me with fear in their eyes.

But their Queen she spoke to them and said
Of this gentle giant you need hold no dread
I met him in the oak tree shade
Into Fairyland he has somehow strayed.

Then the fairy band started playing anew
And the fairy folk started dancing too
Round and round the dance floor they did wheel
To the haunting sound of a fairy reel.

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Talking China Doll Dreams of Merry Go Round, Playground & Fairy Stage

Fair fairy tales would be perfect for putting child to bed,
inciting images of speedy spinner merry-go-round or swings instesad,
for once ignoring the bare wood or carpet
which level inner sides of the house to let.

Listen to talking over obscure passage abiss
that drops as the gentle rain from heaven's bliss
of the midwinter's nightmarish dream,
that most fairies piece together in writing a reem.

Legendary voices appear as light, flexible and round ales
who are drunk upon observing intoxicating illustrations to fairy tales.
For the poet, without talking about it.
is being there were gone except for royal wit.

However under fairy tales of old bloat
the wizard encounters the talking scape goat.
Metamorphosis of stork to love is unlike modern fairy tale
of wolves abd talking animals where imginative realms fail.

With merry nonchalance man and beast encounter each other
in obnoxious gossiping all over this book in smother.
On the stage will be seen the actual play operated
just as it is operational all seem to have done liberated.

On her frock the doll wore a yellow ribbon and made dismayed more.
Dolls face reality in this versional reversion score.
Glittering fountains in forgotten fairy tale draw what you
regards as gentlemen, friends and brought back talk out of the blue.

Dreams appeal naturally of course, to you
that without looking round wants to compare old with new,
Or not yet created, in talking to himself or with audience,
asking what was the man other than personified benevolence.

Protagonist in play gets a porcelain doll
which the protagonist covets less than a troll;
having always a merry day, when asunder in party,
parting in fine clothes and gay laughter hearty.

When up in the morning, recalled his dream and before
in prefernce of dreams of future wind and more,
yet not indicating despair to merry friend
talking about later reading tale to end.

Unveiled doll gazes at crescent moon, sun and star
past the merry-go-round, carousel and picturesque postcards from afar.
The of and to is to with of that what is to he
for merciful merriment's enjoy and benefit for all to see.

[...] Read more

poem by Hercolena Oliver
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SOUNDS & SIGHTS OF THE RIVERDANCE...[Observations From A Live Irish Step Dance Performance/Radio City Music Hall, New York]

Tap, Tap, Tap...
Shoe-point on wood
One lone Dancer
Striking the floor
With hyperbole...
While ignominiously
Glaring, left to right
Twenty Dancers
Being watched
By twenty more
Awaiting their key
Standing in position
Clad in dark solids
Burgandy and black
Orchestra anxious
Ready to commence
Turn a silent stage
Alive with fifes 'n strings
Hear the sound of Violins
Tight-string pulling
...Rosin!
Dancers juxtaposed
Spotlights frame
each glacing movement
Madonna's......in tights
Dark Angels in taps
As the orchestra leader
SHOUTS.... in soprano
ONE, TWO, THREE..FOUR
One, Two, Three...
one, two, three...AND....
Twenty more Dancers
Edge of the stage
While Irish reels join
The romp of ''Firedance''
And, twenty-five more
Dancers in backdrop
Under white lights
Confluenced, and stunning
Commanding the audience
Front and Center
Like silhouette figures
And marionettes
All synchronized...Yes...
And on single deaf cue
Break from the middle
Like a gaelic Red Sea
And twenty-five more
Dancers line...Synchronized...YES!
All in one line...

[...] Read more

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Fairy Of The Fountains

WHY did she love her mother's so?
It hath wrought her wondrous wo.

Once she saw an armed knight
In the pale sepulchral light;
When the sullen starbeams throw
Evil spells on earth below:
And the moon is cold and pale,
And a voice is on the gale,
Like a lost soul's heavenward cry,
Hopeless in its agony.

He stood beside the castle-gate,
The hour was dark, the hour was late;
With the bearing of a king
Did he at the portal ring,
And the loud and hollow bell
Sounded like a Christian's knell.
That pale child stood on the wall,
Watching there, and saw it all.
Then she was a child as fair
As the opening blossoms are:
But with large black eyes, whose light
Spoke of mystery and might.
The stately stranger's head was bound
With a bright and golden round;
Curiously inlaid, each scale
Shone upon his glittering mail;
His high brow was cold and dim,
And she felt she hated him.
Then she heard her mother's voice,
Saying, ' 'Tis not at my choice!
'We for ever, wo the hour,
'When you sought my secret bower,
'Listening to the word of fear,
'Never meant for human ear.
'Thy suspicion's vain endeavour,
'We! we! parted us for ever.'

Still the porter of the hall
Heeded not that crown'd knight's call.
When a glittering shape there came,
With a brow of starry flame;
And he led that knight again
O'er the bleak and barren plain.
He flung, with an appealing cry,
His dark and desperate arms on high;
And from Melusina's sight
Fled away through thickest night.
Who has not, when but a child,

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poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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