I HEAR you, little spirit, in the bushes,
Laughing where the heather blossoms low,
Where the tiny fieldmouse softly pushes
Nose inquisitive and eyes aglow.
Little sprite of laughter and derision,
Tender-hearted spirit of good luck,
Pranking through the dream of days Elysian,
Teach me laughter, Puck!

Puck, you elf, you wisely merry fairy,
What have you to do with solemn men?
You so foot it, airiest of airy,
That we only catch you now and then.
Earnest, sombre-browed, we follow after
You, who fly a-mocking from the ruck;
O we have a desperate need of laughter!
Give us laughter, Puck!