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| BRIGHT Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay! | |
| I had not been a wedded wife a twelvemonth and a day, | |
| I had not nurs’d my little one a month upon my knee, | |
| When down among the blue-bell banks rose elfins three times three, | |
| They gripp’d me by the raven hair, I could not cry for fear, | 5 |
| They put a hempen rope around my waist and dragg’d me here, | |
| They made me sit and give thee suck as mortal mothers can, | |
| Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! strange and weak and wan! | |
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| Dim Face, Grim Face! lie ye there so still? | |
| Thy red, red lips are at my breast, and thou may’st suck thy fill; | 10 |
| But know ye, tho’ I hold thee firm, and rock thee to and fro, | |
| ‘T is not to soothe thee into sleep, but just to still my woe? | |
| And know ye, when I lean so calm against the wall of stone, | |
| ‘T is when I shut my eyes and try to think thou art mine own? | |
| And know ye, tho’ my milk be here, my heart is far away, | 15 |
| Dim Face, Grim Face! Daughter of a Fay! | |
| Gold Hair, Cold Hair! Daughter to a King! | |
| Wrapp’d in bands of snow-white silk with jewels glittering, | |
| Tiny slippers of the gold upon thy feet so thin, | |
| Silver cradle velvet-lin’d for thee to slumber in, | 20 |
| Pygmy pages, crimson-hair’d, to serve thee on their knees, | |
| To fan thy face with ferns and bring thee honey bags of bees,— | |
| I was but a peasant lass, my babe had but the milk, | |
| Gold Hair, Cold Hair! raimented in silk! | |
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| Pale Thing, Frail Thing! dumb and weak and thin, | 25 |
| Altho’ thou ne’er dost utter sigh thou ’rt shadow’d with a sin; | |
| Thy minnie scorns to suckle thee, thy minnie is an elf, | |
| Upon a bed of rose’s-leaves she lies and fans herself; | |
| And though my heart is aching so for one afar from me, | |
| I often look into thy face and drop a tear for thee, | 30 |
| And I am but a peasant born, a lowly cotter’s wife, | |
| Pale Thing, Frail Thing! sucking at my life! | |
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| Weak Thing, Meek Thing! take no blame from me, | |
| Altho’ my babe may moan for lack of what I give to thee; | |
| For though thou art a faëry child, and though thou art my woe, | 35 |
| To feel thee sucking at my breast is all the bliss I know; | |
| It soothes me, tho’ afar away I hear my daughter call, | |
| My heart were broken if I felt no little lips at all! | |
| If I had none to tend at all, to be its nurse and slave, | |
| Weak Thing, Meek Thing! I should shriek and rave! | 40 |
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| Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! lying on my knee! | |
| If soon I be not taken back unto mine own countree, | |
| To feel my own babe’s little lips, as I am feeling thine, | |
| To smooth the golden threads of hair, to see the blue eyes shine,— | |
| I ’ll lean my head against the wall and close my weary eyes, | 45 |
| And think my own babe draws the milk with balmy pants and sighs, | |
| And smile and bless my little one and sweetly pass away, | |
| Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay! | |
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