Date: Mon, 12 Apr 93 11:40:27 -0500
From: Allen Garvin <earendil@wizard.etsu.edu>
Subject: Poem (not well known, nor published in his lifetime)


 

                     The Fairy Pendant

                            by

                        W. B. Yeats

               

               Scene: A circle of Druidic stones

        

        First Fairy: Afar from our lawn and our levee,

              O sister of sorrowful gaze!

            Where the roses in scarlet are heavy

              And dream of the end of their days,

            You move in another dominion

              And hang o'er the historied stone:

            Unpruned in your beautiful pinion

              Who wander and whisper alone.

 

        All: Come away while the moon's in the woodland,

              We'll dance and then feast in a dairy.

            Though youngest of all in our good band,

              You are wasting away, little fairy.

 

        Second Fairy: Ah! cruel ones, leave me alone now

              While I murmur a little and ponder

            The history here in the stone now;

              Then away and away will I wander,

            And measure the minds of the flowers,

              And gaze on the meadow-mice wary,

            And number their days and their hours --

           

        All: You're wasting away, little fairy.

 

        Second Fairy: O shining ones, lightly with song pass,

              Ah! leave me, I pray you and beg.

            My mother drew forth from the long grass

              A piece of a nightingale's egg,

            And cradled me here where are sung,

              Of birds even, longings for aery

            Wild wisdoms of spirit and tongue.

 

        All: You're wasting away, little fairy.

 

        First Fairy [turning away]: Though the tenderest roses were

                     round you,

              The soul of the pitiless place

            With pititless magic has bound you --

              Ah! woe for the loss of your face,

            And loss of your laugh with its lightness --

              Ah! woe for your wings and your head --

            Ah! woe for your eyes and their brightness --

              Ah! woe for your slippers of red.

 

        All: Come away while the moon's in the woodland,

              We'll dance and then feast in a dairy.

            Though youngest of all in our good band,

              She is wasting away, little fairy.

 

 




   - Earendil