Spell of the Fae
What is this longing of my heart alone?
Where and when was it conceived?
In the morning mists before sharp winds hath blown,
Or sea-born, drawn to me upheaved?
Tho’ I cannot trace the source of this change
Its spell persists undisturbed
Mine inner fae unfurls her wings to arrange
Her vine-curls so sweetly herbed
And I am overtaken with summons to fly:
Yet wingless, I am driven to forge
New paths through the undergrowth to cliffs of nigh
Before down to the torpid-stoned gorge
O longing, o fae, so aptly crowned
With each desire and dream
In my soul, what hath thou found?
To instil in mine eye such a gleam