Let me be
asleep and free,
borne up in the arms
of the Willow Tree,
floating on
in ship or drawn
by boughs over stream
without eyes for dawn.
Light my way
where playful fey
disguised as fireflies
spring onto the bay.
Here no wraith
in nightmare waits;
no starved tormenter
may claw past the Gate.
Castle looms
seaside, with rooms
of silver stars and
night skies caught in blooms.
Pools too clear
to rob, my dear,
mystical creatures
of their mirth or cheer
find inside
solace to hide,
their well-kept secrets
not stolen nor spied.
Sleep that can
bear mortal man
to reams of Faerie,
can you waking ban?
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Let me be
asleep and free,
borne up in the arms
of the Willow Tree,
floating on
in ship or drawn
by boughs over stream
without eyes for dawn.
Light my way
where playful fey
disguised as fireflies
spring onto the bay.
Here no wraith
in nightmare waits;
no starved tormenter
may claw past the Gate.
Castle looms
seaside, with rooms
of silver stars and
night skies caught in blooms.
Pools too clear
to rob, my dear,
mystical creatures
of their mirth or cheer
find inside
solace to hide,
their well-kept secrets
not stolen nor spied.
Sleep that can
bear mortal man
to reams of Faerie,
can you waking ban?
In homage to George MacDonald, particularly his novel Phantastes, most specifically chapter XI. If you haven't had the good fortune to read any of his work, do. It will change how you see death permanently.
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