Round the stem of a sleeping flower,
 Whilst the voice of the night was still,
Sat a synod of wondrous power,
 On the blades of a grassy hill.

There were fays of the river and fell,
 There were elves of the wood and glen,
There were spirits of the grot and cell,
 There were wraiths of the moor and fen.

The hymnal bands of the traceless tune,
 Heard i' the bosom of the sky,
And the riders of the radiant lune,
 On a down-beam, hither-borne, hie.

Some piped on tubes of invisible span,
 Some wept o'er th' inaudible lyre,
And ever as the melody ran,
 Rung the bells of the heav'nly quire.

And I heard down the valley bourne,
 Like th' echo of a broken dream,
A chant; as a wind-shook reed might mourn,
 Or the song of a running stream.

FAIRIES' ADDRESS TO THE MOON

Listen, O moonbeam, listen!
  To hollow reeds we fill,
And rest on this green bosom,
  The sweetest of the hill.

Rest, rest, O rest, mountain flowers are dreaming,
 And the dale-queens wink, i' the glittering blaze,
In silver veils o'er the red-rose streaming,
 And bow'ring the blue-bell in a bright shade of rays.

These weepers, these weepers of the roral tear!
 How can they weep for the Sun,
When their green robes sweetest and brightest appear,
 And have such a livery on?

The gorgeous fount is a ring of light,
 The river is a flood of beams,
And the woods as they shiver in the winds of night
 Seem cover'd with a thousand streams.

The rushes start like icicles
  Bright from the shining lake,
And each fond reed its pleasure tells
  In whispers through the brake.

Hail then, fair fount of effluent light! Hail, hail!
 Thou sun of night, thou glory of the sky!
White rose of Heaven! sweet Queen o' the blue-bosom'd vale,
 Where grow the pale star-flowers, and the long-hair'd meteors fly!
Fly away, Moon!
Spirits, begone!
  For the east begins to flare.
  To the wood! to the glen!
  To the moor! to the fen!
To the grot! to the river! to the air!