Of moths—to woo around me cool soft airs,
And shade mine eyes from Cynthia's glancing ray.
FAIRIES (chaunt low)
Pour, Nightingale,
Thy tenderest wail,
Rise, mists, and veil
Our Fairy Queen.
Flowers, bow your head,
And perfume shed
Around the bed
Of our sweet Queen.
Winds, hushed be;
Oh, Linden-tree,
Wave silently
Above our Queen.
TITANIA.
'Tis vain! sleep will not rest upon mine eyes,—
Some mortal sure is lurking near, unseen.
