O’er bridge and brook you’ve found a faerie realm,
behold a rare ethereal tableau.
The moonlight peers between the beech and elm
and sets the faerie revelry aglow.
Beguiling bells and flutes the clearing fill.
What sweet music, what strange and simple cheer.
But hidden stay you, traveler, and still.
This merry scene hides more than does appear.
See the queen, motionless upon her throne.
She stares, unblinking, silent as a tomb,
Like a broken fountain of old, cracked stone
watching the garden flowers ‘round it bloom.
A prisoner and captor all in one,
Unless the faerie magic comes undone.
For not a faerie is the faerie queen.
She is all of nature’s wrath incarnate,
spellbound in this form–fair, pale, and pristine
skin of snow, eyes of lustrous garnet.
The music calms the waters of her mind
as she watches her subjects sway and sing.
Dancers shake their shimmering wings in kind,
while others play, plucking fox whisker strings.
Night after night, their music fills the air
‘til daylight, when at last their queen’s eyes close.
To cease before, the faeries do not dare,
and risk destruction if she ever rose.
They’re prisoners and captors all in one,
both slaves and master ‘til each morning sun.