Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917.
Richard Le Gallienne
The Wife from Fairyland
H
Of little lives that pass
Away in one green afternoon,
Deep in the haunted grass;
The morning of a day
When the world that still was April
Was turning into May.
’T was so she seemed to me,
A silver shadow of the woods,
Whisper and mystery.
And all my heart was hers,
And then I led her by the hand
Home up my marble stairs;
Was hers for her green eyes,
And all my sinful heart was hers
From sunset to sunrise;
That God had given to me,
I listened to fulfill her dreams,
Rapt with expectancy.
Brought but a weary smile
Of gratitude upon her face;
As though a little while,
Of marble and of gold
And waited to be home again
When the dull tale was told.
Unseen, she deemed, unheard,
I found her dancing like a leaf
And singing like a bird.
In lonely earth or sky,
So merry and so sad a thing,
One sad, one laughing, eye.
A wildwood blossom lay,
And the world that still was April
Was turning into May.
That turned my heart to stone:
My wife that came from fairyland
No longer was alone.
To show the green way home,
Home through the leaves, home through the dew,
Home through the greenwood—home.