The Bullfinches

 Bother Bulleys, let us sing 
 From the dawn till evening! - 
For we know not that we go not 
 When the day's pale pinions fold 
 Unto those who sang of old.
 

 When I flew to Blackmoor Vale, 
 Whence the green-gowned faeries hail, 
Roosting near them I could hear them 
 Speak of queenly Nature's ways, 
 Means, and moods,--well known to fays.
 

 All we creatures, nigh and far 
 (Said they there), the Mother's are: 
Yet she never shows endeavour 
 To protect from warrings wild 
 Bird or beast she calls her child.
 

 Busy in her handsome house 
 Known as Space, she falls a-drowse; 
Yet, in seeming, works on dreaming, 
 While beneath her groping hands 
 Fiends make havoc in her bands.
 

 How her hussif'ry succeeds 
 She unknows or she unheeds, 
All things making for Death's taking! 
 --So the green-gowned faeries say 
 Living over Blackmoor way.
 

 Come then, brethren, let us sing, 
 From the dawn till evening! - 
For we know not that we go not 
 When the day's pale pinions fold 
 Unto those who sang of old.

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