Poems (Mansfield)/Fairy Tale
FAIRY TALE
Now folds the Tree of Day its perfect flowers,And every bloom becomes a bud again,Shut and sealed up against the golden showersOf bees that hover in the velvet hours. . . . Now a strainWild and mournful blown from shadow towers,Echoed from shadow ships upon the foam,Proclaims the Queen of Night. From their bowersThe dark Princesses fluttering, wing their flightTo their old Mother, in her huge old home. 1919.