Spring house-cleaning in Arcadie,
When every bough is bare;
" If it bring Wendy back to me,
" I wish," quoth Pan, " 'twere here."
For Peter Pan is sometimes sad
In spite of all that's sung;
He has to pipe and dance like mad
To keep this old world young.

And as he pipes the fairies light
A star for every tone.
(Do starry lights burn just as bright
When one is all alone?)
And as he pipes small elfin folk
Foregather from the moon,
And dance, and flash, and fade like smoke
While he plays on and on.

His magic tree-tops shine with ice
That used to melt in green,
The people creep like small brown mice
Down in the worlds between.
And Wendy may be well or ill,
And play or go to school;
But Pan sits high and pipes his fill
And minds no mortal rule.

O Peter Pan, the winds are cold,
The snow is deep and high;
The Never-Never Land is gold,
And yet — perhaps you sigh;
Perhaps you know, though just an elf,
In your small fairy way,
How wretched one is by himself,
When Some One Else can't stay!

So pipe your sweetest, Peter Pan,
And clang the silver bells;
Send all the elfin din you can
To where the Great One dwells,
Who holds the Spring within His hand,
That you who wait above,
And we, in this midwinter world,
May call again — to Love.