Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/202

188 They are maids who died unwed, And they quit their gloomy bed, Hungry still for human pleasure, Here to trip a moonlit measure. Near the shore the mermaids play, Floating on the cool, white spray, Leaping from the glittering surf To the dark and fragrant turf, Where the frolic trolls, and elves Daintily disport themselves. All the shapes by poet s brain, Fashioned, live for me again, In this spiritual light, Less than day, yet more than night. What a world ! a waking dream, All things other than they seem, Borrowing a finer grace, From yon golden globe in space; Touched with wild, romantic glory, Foliage fresh and billows hoary, Hollows bathed in yellow haze, Hills distinct and fields of maize, Ancient legends come to mind. Who would marvel should he find, In the copse or nigh the spring, Summer fairies gamboling Where the honey-bees do suck, Mab and Ariel and Puck? Ah! no modern mortal sees Creatures delicate as these.