Classic Poem

She left the talking and laughter,
She went to the fairies' glen,
Looked into the trembling water,
And whispered, “Fairy Gwen,
Come, listen to me for a moment,
I've a favour to ask, Queen Gwen.”

Then a sweet sprite parted the wave
With swan-white hands from her face,
Whose blue eyes a whole heaven gave
Back to the blue, boundless space,
And, “What is it that you would crave,
Kathleen,” she said, “of my grace?”

She answered, “If I could be fair,
Flower-fair, Queen Gwen,” said she,
“If I had your beams on my hair,
Perchance he would look at me;
But I am a little plain maiden,
And, oh! there is no one but he.”

The fair sprite leaned on the edge
Of the wavelet tipped with gold,
Stretched her swan-hand into the sedge,
And let it a flower enfold:
A small, black-centred water-weed,
With a little crest of gold.

And she said, “There's death at the core,
But a rim of glory round;
And if fairness be your heart's store,
Kathleen, you must kiss the ground.
Yes, die and be buried, Kathleen,
And blossom in flowers all round.”

“Then shall I be fair when I'm dead,
And if, if he passes by,
Will he wonder, praise me?” she said.
“But, oh! Queen Gwen, must I die?
Is that the one way to be fair?
I cannot,” she cried bitterly.

The gentle sprite shivered beneath
Cold waves of the leaden water,
Kathleen walked away from death
Into the talking and laughter.
Kathleen dreaming her day-dreams,—
Which way did the will-winds waft her?