We spirits may our airy measures weave;
Then link yourselves together, Fays, and glide
Wave-like above the spiry blades of grass.
How the dew fills the flowers' sweet eyes, like tears—
They weep because to-morrow they must die.—
Fairies (singing as they dance)
Where the moon's trembling light
Falls on the misty green,
Where the dew sparkles bright
Wild flowers and leaves between,
There we flit—
Weaving our airy maze:
Tripping it,
By those clear silver rays
Mocking the watcher's gaze;—
Thus do we,
Merrily,
Live in the nightly gleam;
