These tiny loiterers on the barley's beard
And happy units of a numerous herd
Of playfellows, the laughing Summer brings
Mocking the sunshine on their glittering wings
How merrily they creep, and run, and fly!
No kin they bear to labour's drudgery
Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge-rose
And where they fly for dinner no one knows
The dew-drops feed them not - they love the shine
Of noon, whose suns may bring them golden wine
All day they're playing in their Sunday dress
When night reposes, for they can do no less
Then, to the heath-bell's purple hood they fly
And like to princes in their slumbers lie
Secure from rain, and dropping dews, and all
In silken beds and roomy painted hall
So merrily they spend their summer-day
Now in the corn-fields, now in the new-mown hay
One almost fancies that such happy things
With coloured hoods and richly burnished wings
Are fairy folk, in splendid masquerade
Disguised, as if of mortal folk afraid
Keeping their joyous pranks a mystery still
Lest glaring day should do their secrets ill