Century Magazine/Volume 57/Issue 4/A Fairy Grave

Let a little grave be made, Half in shadow, half in shade, In a quiet, kindly place, Friendly as her face. Let the passing fairy bird From his airy height be heard; Ever, ever for that ground Only gentle sound. Let the singing winds, which be    Wingèd dream and melody, Singing softly, by her lie, Softly singing, die. Let the bee has sucked the bloom Homeward journey by her tomb, And his tithe of sweet be paid To her sweeter shade. Let the low clouds, red and gold, Mourn her on the mountains old; Beauty, aye her guardian be, You and Melody. Spirits of sound and souls of flowers, All you dearest griefless powers, You with whom she went away, Tend her night and day.