A cone of dust is dancing at the lane end,

Caught from the surface of the thirsty trackway

And dropped again, into annihilation,

By gusts from nowhere.

Upon the wheel of little whirlwind moulded,

It billows in a wreath of spiral beauty,

But, swifter than the smoke of fire dislimning,

Endures no longer.

So I, intrinsical one slippery moment

Share with my brief, grey brother at the lane end

His buffet into being, then, unfettered,

A like dismissal.

Dust of the cosmos, you alone eternal

Immutable behind a myriad garments,

Your stars grow ripe upon the boughs of heaven;

But you bate nothing.

All one to you the forms and the reforming,

The fashion of the man, or mouse, or mountain:

So order be declared and conquered chaos

Dethroned for ever.

YOUNG NIGHT

When flitter-mice with zigzag flight

Specked the green sky at twilight dim;

When the wise bird from out the brim

Of forest darkness to the light

Floated and perched upon a height,

With mellow voice to welcome night;

When day was stolen from the dale

To leave, where little river goes,

One farewell, dusky gleam of rose;

When down the purple of the vale

A wingèd beetle boomed his tale

And night-moth drank from night-flow'r pale;

When grey churn-owl within a glade

Purred through the gloaming, till the sky

Throbbed with his goblin melody;

When, by her stone, the glow-worm played

And with an emerald lamp betrayed

The new-born dew-drops on the blade;

When young Night's self in starry dress

Came timid to her throne again--

Sweet anodyne for dead day's pain

And fire and wound and fevered stress--

With heart to soothe and will to bless,

Then how I loved her loveliness!

JILL BASSETT

Jill Bassett, she was dancing mad,

And any lad

Who'd win that most amazing maid

Must needs be a light-footed blade.

So said the folk; but I had pelf,

And when the elf

Found she might reign at Chadley Wood,

Though I weren't young, she thought it good.

She danced into my arms, and then,

Along of men

And some harsh words I'd got to say,

One autumn time she danced away.

She vanished, like a bow on rain,

And, to be plain,

I didn't feel no mighty wrench

Nor much bewail the giglet wench.

Then came a bit of funny news

From Billy Bewes:

He'd seen the wretch at Christmas time

Dancing in Plymouth pantomime!

For five good year no more was heard

Of the rash bird;

Then danced she back; but not to I:

Her mother took her in to die.

Her breathing parts was nearly gone,

Her dancing done.

She wilted, like a davered rose;

But I forgave her at the close.

With Bassett folk they dug her pit;

It wasn't fit

That she should lie where I shall go:

Her mother granted that was so.

Then, passing New Year's night, I saw

Upon the hoar

Of moony frost in churchyard ground

The woman dancing on her mound!

I'll take my oath afore my God

She swept the sod

With naked feet and showed her charms

And twirled about her twinkling arms.

A brace of owls that saw her too

Made their hulloo,

To which she danced so wondrous brave

Over the silver on her grave.

Mayhap the cold got in her bones

Under the stones,

And up the wilful ghostey came

To warm herself at her old game.

And I was on my hoss's back--

I'd had my whack,

But only just the usual three,

And no man ever doubted me.

TAILPIECE

At turn of night the wild geese fly

And waken drowsy wonder

Beneath their wingèd thunder;

Then silence falls again,

Until the homing barn-owls cry

And ring with hollow laughter,

From ivy-tod and rafter,

The farm upon the plain.

The lark's aloft, a bead of gold;

While yet the earth lies darkling,

His little body's sparkling:

The sun has risen for him.

A dotted track on dew-grey fold

The weary fox is leaving;

I hear the plovers peeving;

The morning star grows dim.

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIXIES' PLOT ***