The Asphodel

A fairy queen, one radiant night,Strayed from her fabled sphere,Down through the crimson clouds that filledThe mellow atmosphere;She saw this earth hung like a lampIn the great silent void,A miracle of wondrous form,—A finger-mark of God.

She folded up her breezy wingsTo visit this new land,And sank upon a sea-weed leafDown on the harbor sand;The moisture chilled her tender limbs,She trembled on her bed,The hoarse sea-moanings tired her heart,And hurt her throbbing head.

She said, "I'll call my minions downTo build a palace hall,Where I can dwell whene'er I chooseTo make this earth a call."She struck her lute, a blade of grass,—A hundred fairies came,With little wands of yellow lightAnd crowns of amber flame.

Soon as she told her royal wishThey bowed to the behest,And flew away, each with her handOf fealty on her breast.A palace rose: its towers were gold,Its walls of crimson silk,Its windows of the clearest pearl,Its floors as white as milk.

Triumphant went the fairy queenHer new-made home to see;A gallant orchestra there wasTo greet her majesty.Robins, and bees, and grasshoppers,Sang each a rare refrain,—And over all the moonlight pouredIts glittering silver rain.

A miracle of art and tasteThe fairy palace stood;The royal perfume of its sweetsFloating for many a rood.And to this day maids love the flowerWhere the queen came to dwell,And bind within their wealth of curlsThe peerless Asphodel.