Classic Poem

On gossamer nights when the moon is low,
— And stars in the mist are hiding,
Over the hill where the foxgloves grow
— You may see the fairies riding.
— — Kling! Klang! Kling!
— — Their stirrups and their bridles ring,
— And their horns are loud and their bugles blow,
— When the moon is low.

They sweep through the night like a whistling wind,
— They pass and have left no traces;
But one of them lingers far behind
— The flight of the fairy faces.
— — She makes no moan,
— — She sorrows in the dark alone,
— She wails for the love of human kind,
— Like a whistling wind.

" Ah! why did I roam where the elfins ride,
— Their glimmering steps to follow?
They bore me far from my loved one's side,
— To wander o'er hill and hollow.
— — Kling! Klang! Kling!
— — Their stirrups and their bridles ring,
But my heart is cold in the cold night-tide,
Where the elfins ride. "