Thistledown

She danced thro' life as light as thistledown,
The grace of Columbine, charm of Pierette,
These, and that blithesome quality of thistledown,
With memory of her linger by us yet.
A fairy, slipping thro' a world material,
Shaming dull men made gross thro' mundance schemes,
She came to us, a being half ethereal,
To lure us into lands of strange, sweet dreams.

One hour she gave us of Elysian rapture,
A mood, a vision lamentably rare;
And now in vain our dark minds would recapture
The wholesome sweetness of her dancing there
Dancing, and ever dancing, gaily, smilingly,
Lending her genius in a hundred parts.
Leading us on to Fairyland beguilingly,
Dancing and dancing straight into our hearts.

And she has gone.  What need is there to tell us
She was not ours who guessed not half her worth?
Or that the high gods, watching, had grown jealous
That she should waste such sweetness on mere earth?
So she who for a little while was lent to us
To cleanse with poetry the hearts of men
A sprite, a fairy pitying Heaven sent to us
Like thistledown is wafted from our ken.