Faery Magic

a little twisted path That climbs toward the skies, To where the elves have hatched a plot To trick the worldly wise.

There, seven tapered poplar-trees, Like leafy minarets, Weave their leaves against the sky In changing silhouettes.

The solemn-eyed and sceptical, See only seven trees, Whose crooning song and leafy laugh "Can only be the breeze."

But we who love the faery ways, Know that here arrayed, Are seven faery princesses, In leafy masquerade.