Rupert Atkinson

The Flight of Puck

Through bright glistening dew, light-listening
To the stir of flowering meads,
Singing shyly, winging slyly,
Ever on he gladly speeds
Open fairy realms and under
Open skies of joyous wonder,
Plucking buds and boughs asunder,
Green among green water-reeds.

By stark-streaming skies, dark-gleaming,

Where the warm night sinks aswoon.
Lying grayly — flying gaily.

Summer petals softly strewn
Tell his song till hours grow fonder;
On he goes, and strange dreams wander
In his wake till, burning yonder.

Red, the sun outshines the moon.

Through bright glistening dew, light-listening.

Still he strays mid deep woods dim;
Half in weeping, laughing, leaping.

Mocking Sorrow at his whim,
Beckoning Beauty — Hope knows whither !
Youth and Pleasure, coming hither.
Hear his call, and, hastening thither.

Laugh their joy in seeking him!