Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 11

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The fairy people flouted me,

Mocked me, shouted me—

They chased me down the dreamy hill and beat me with a wand.

Within the wood they found me, put spells on me and bound me

And left me at the edge of day in John the miller’s pond.

Beneath the eerie starlight

Their hair shone curd-white;

Their bodies were all twisted like a lichened apple-tree;

Feather-light and swift they moved,

And never one the other loved,

For all were full of ancient dreams and dark designs on me.

With noise of leafy singing

And white wands swinging,

They marched away amid the grass that swayed to let them through.

Between the yellow tansies

Their eyes, like purple pansies,

Peered back on me before they passed all trackless in the dew.