I do not know what day I came away
From that quaint shining country where you find
Fair things so near; trees that bend down to play,
White mushroom tables where the elves have dined
Beside the door, while you were fast asleep;
And everywhere strange moving things to touch,
A shadow leaf to hold, but not to keep,
And little furry animals to clutch.
Yet sometimes, when I listen to you tell
Of this gay land; the moon that follow you
Into the house, the goblin with his bell,
All silvery at night; to-morrow, what you'll do;
I marvel, since the light may fall so gray;
I did not know — that day I came away.