Fantasy
I hear the fluttering wind, I see
The shadows on the grass.
I wish that you would come to me!
I would not let you pass!
But springing up from where I lie,
I take you in my arms, would I!
I’d tell you where white heather grows,
I’d kiss you, and I’d hold you close,
I would not let you pass!
Here, by my side, you’d watch with me
Cloud shadows on the grass.
If chance that you should come may be,
I will not let you pass!
Where the lost faerie kingdoms lie,
I’ll tell in wonder-tales—will I!
And as the brilliant fancy grows,
I’ll kiss you, and I’ll hold you close,
I will not let you pass!