The Faery Pipe
Woods of wonder, wonder ways,
Where the Faery Piper plays,
Bidding all to up and follow
Over haunted hill and hollow,
And behold again the Fays
Whirling in a moonlit maze.
He whom once our Childhood knew,
Piper of the Dream-come-true;
Who with music reared us towers
Of Adventure, where the Hours
Wove enchantments; peopled too
With the deeds of Daring-do.
Oh, to hear the pipe he blows
Saying all of Let’s-Suppose!
Who once bade us brave the danger
Of the Dragon, for the stranger,
Princess, who, to tell her woes,
Dropped from her high Tower a rose.
She, for whom we would have died,
To whose Tower the pipe was guide,
And from Witchcraft’s power delivered.
How the dungeon-tower shivered
When our trumpet blast defied,
Challenging its giant pride!
Oh, again to stand and see
Vision grow reality!
Hear the Elfland bugles blowing,
And, beyond all seeing, knowing,
Gallop to our empery
There again in Faërie!
Oh, again to leave regret,
Fever of the world and fret!
Tears and loss and work and worry!
For the Land of Song and Story,
For that Land none can forget,
Of which Thought is minion yet. . . .
Woods of wonder, wonder ways,
Where the Faery Piper plays,
Saying, 'Quit your melancholy!
Leave the world of work and folly!
Follow me to where the Fays
Trip it as in Childhood’s days.’
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