I live in pursuit of fairy rings,
Of tanglewebs, and pixie-wings;
I live in constant wondering
At gossamer and rain.
For in all things does magic hide -
In flower, in starlight - and I've spied
It peep from hollows where life has died,
From loneliness, from pain.
It creeps about in all I see,
This glorious secret, merrily;
It smiles and sighs and laughs at me
Who am so coarse and dull.
It laughs - but sadly - at the blind
Which lowers its nets about my mind
And 'round my spirit twists and twines
The befuddling smoke of the Fall.
And yet, I am not wholly dead
To roses' beauty, dewdrop-fed;
My faculties have not all fled
The knowledge nature would impart;
For whenever beguiling enchantment I read
In a pebble-stone, or a thistle-seed,
I sense that, where magic has been decreed,
A Wizard has wrought His art.