Ξ€HE fairies play on the beach at night; I see them dance in the misty light; They weave their garlands of seaweed strands; with plows of silver, they plow the sands In dimpled furrows and tiny dells For a fairy harvest of colored shells.
I may not join them. I sit on the rocks Combing my beautiful moon-gold locks, Spreading them out on the breast of the tide In a dappled pathway shimmering wide, Where all the fairies that ever there be Might come a-dancing over to me.
I sing my songs, but they do not heed; they will not come. They are wise indeed. I would gather them close in my golden snare, drag them down in my web of hair, Nor all the magic that ever might be I Should charm them back from the depths of the sea.
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