BLOOMS OF THE BERRYY 9
The whistles tagged their horses' manes
All crystal clear; on these a wind
Forever played, and waked the plains
These flute-notes and the Fairy song
Took the dim holts with many a qualm,
And eke their silver bridles rung
A far-off psalm.
All rid upon pale ouphen steeds
With flying tails, uncouthly seen;
Each wore a scarf athwart his weeds
Of freshest green.
And aye a beam of silver light
Fairer than moonshine danced aboon,
And shook their locks-a glimmering white
Not of the moon.
Small were they that the hare-bell's blue
Had helmeted each tiny head;
Save one damsel, who, tall as two,
The Faeries led.