Unmasked

Was it a dream, Or a whim of the night? Or did they gleam Upon my sight An instant there in the wan moonlight? I saw them all, I think, Under the bowers, The faery folk, in a moonbeam wink, Disguised as flowers. First came the Bleeding-Hearts, that hang like bells Or delicate shells; Who, gowned in white and red, Hooped skirts and furbelows, A long procession led Of Faery Ladies and their beaux, Such as the Violet and Early Rose, Into the ball-room of the flower-bed, Where they began a Pixy minuet. Then suddenly, from whence nobody knows, The Johnny-Jump-Ups glimmered in that set, Tipping about on tiny flower-toes, All dressed in twinkling velvet, black and blue, Faint-jeweled with the dew: Stout sons of Faërie, Yeomen of the Night, Glittering, each one, a rapier-ray of light: Then, bowing two by two, While all the Bleeding-Hearts stood by and fanned, They, silken hand in hand, Began a faery saraband, That wound and interwound, and went and came again. And then, In ruffed and ribboned lines, The gold-and-ruby gleaming Columbines, Fair Maids-of-Honor to the Faery Queen, Who still remained unseen, Trailed twinkling into view. And then a trumpet blew A beetle-blast and there! Adown a glowworm-lanthorned avenue, Tall two by two, With sapphire-helméd hair, Proud Knights and minions of the moon, The Larkspurs, to a cricket tune, Marched with a haughty air. And golden-cuirassed, blowing a wild fanfare Of fragrant notes From honey-crystaled throats, Snapdragons, Trumpeters of the Faery King, With pomp and glittering Of many an elfin prince and peer, Drew near. And when I felt secure, And sure The King and Queen of Faerie would appear, My dear, A cockerel crew, a thwarting cockerel crew, And, presto! whew! The whole scene went in air, Leaving it there, The garden, glimmering with the moon and dew, Looking demure With all its flowers. But I knew, Nay, I was sure, It was not quite as innocent as it seemed. It could not fool me with its looks demure. I knew I had not dreamed.