The Bullfinches
Brother Bulleys, let us singFrom the dawn till evening!—For we know not that we go notWhen the day’s pale pinions foldUnto those who sang of old.
When I flew to Blackmoor Vale,Whence the green-gowned faeries hail,Roosting near them I could hear themSpeak of queenly Nature’s ways,Means, and moods,—well known to fays.
All we creatures, nigh and far(Said they there), the Mother’s are:Yet she never shows endeavourTo protect from warrings wildBird or beast she calls her child.
Busy in her handsome houseKnown as Space, she falls a-drowse;Yet, in seeming, works on dreaming,While beneath her groping handsFiends make havoc in her bands.
How her hussif’ry succeedsShe unknows or she unheeds,All things making for Death’s taking!—So the green-gowned faeries sayLiving over Blackmoor way.
Come then, brethren, let us sing,From the dawn till evening!—For we know not that we go notWhen the day’s pale pinions foldUnto those who sang of old.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.