FAIRY WINE-SKINS.

FAIRY WINE-SKINS.

HEN dusky grapes in clusters
Weigh down the ropes of vine,
Like dusty leathern bottles,

Plumped out with fairy wine,

I know the rogue who drains them,
A robber bold and small;

The last drop in the wine-skin
He likes the best of all.

Each russet sack he presses,
And stains with red the tips
Of all his gypsy fingers,
And both his eager lips.

O Peach-Cheeks, when the fairies
By moonlight seek the vine,
And find a heap of empty sacks

But not a drop of wine,

73