Classic Poem

Pure must the warder be whose anxious footstep waits,
Watchful for evermore, beside the fairy-gates:
But who would enter there
Must even purer be, and stronger, and his hand
Spotless,—if he would tread the sacred fairy-land
And breathe its mystic air.

If I would worship thee, and tread, with thee beside,
The grass of fairy-land, how pure and strong and wide
And deep my soul must be!
“God! purify my heart,—that it may have the power
To enter fairy-land with this sweet fairy flower.”
“Fairy: I follow thee!”