The faerie dance

Now the coppice still as evening

Cloaked in shadows sombre weaves,

Slowly wakes as autumn breezes

Stir the slumber of the leaves.

As the midnight hour approaches

Now the harvest moon is high,

Comes the strain of faerie music

Softer than a wood nymph's sigh.

There at the appointed moment

Gold and silver wings appear,

Thus the faerie dancers promise

The fertile earth another year.