The Faëry Chasm

No fiction was it of the antique age:

A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft,

Is of the very footmarks unbereft

Which tiny Elves impressed; - on that smooth stage

Dancing with all their brilliant equipage

In secret revels - haply after theft

Of some sweet Babe - Flower stolen, and coarse Weed left

For the distracted Mother to assuage

Her grief with, as she might! - But, where, oh! where

Is traceable a vestige of the notes

That ruled those dances wild in character? -

Deep underground? Or in the upper air,

On the shrill wind of midnight? or where floats

O'er twilight fields the autumnal gossamer?