THE GOLDEN SWING-BOAT

CROSS the low dim fields we caught
Faint music from a distant band —
So sweet i’ the dusk one might have thought
It floated up from elfin-land.

Then, o’er the tree-tops’ hazy blue
We saw the new moon, low i’ the air:
“Look, Dad,” she cried, “a shuggy-shue !
Why, this must be a fairies’ fair!”

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