Close your eyes, O poet true,
Then from Faeryland of dreams
We will come again to you.”
And through the branches of the trees shone the red glare of the dawn, which seemed to come nearer and nearer. The great boughs with their myriad leaves faded into the angry scarlet, a veil of darkness enveloped me, and, awaking with a start, I found myself seated in my arm-chair in the shadowy room, with the fire burning redly in the grate.
Even the cricket had ceased to sing, and outside the white snowflakes still fell, and the wind whistled shrilly round the house. Was it a dream? Maybe! for it is only in dreams, dear children, that we can ever hope to visit Faeryland, where dwell all those lovely fancies and beautiful thoughts which form your enchanted world; but the child who has once visited the wonderful realm of gracious Oberon must try never to forget what he has seen, so that, when he becomes a grown-up person, he can remember his childish glimpse of the delightful Kingdom of Faeryland.
Transcriber’s Notes