An Evening in Tavrobel

An Evening in Tavrobel

‘Tis the time when May first looks towards June,
With almond-scented hawthorn strewn.
The tremulous day at last has run
Down the gold stairways of the Sun,
Who brimmed the buttercups with light
Like a clear wine she spillèd bright;
And gleaming spirits there did dance
And sip those goblets’ radiance.

Now wane they all: now comes the moon;
Like crystals are the dewdrops strewn
Beneath the eve, and twinkling gems
And hung on the leaves and slender stems.
Now in the grass lies many a pool,
Infinitesimal and cool,
Where tiny faces peer and laugh
At glassy fragments of the stars
About them mirrored, or from jars
Of unimagined frailty quaft
This essence of the plenilune,
Thirsty, perchance, from dancing all the noon.