The Dancer

I fell asleep once beside a faery fountain,
That stands, if you would know, upon a blue hill,
Close beside the green mound we call the Mountain.
The fountain springs from a splashing green rill,
Springs from a spring as cold as the snow
That bears water from the summit no humans know.

I woke at last, and yet I did not quite wake.
I opened my eyes, and saw her at the fountain,
So fair she made my head spin and my eyes ache.
She was kneeling there in the shade of the Mountain,
Her voice soft and yearning, the sound of the forest,
As she sang again and again the same gentle chorus.

"Tomorrow I am to be wed, and tonight at the fountain
I would dance, if I could, in the shade of the Mountain.
I would dance, if I could, to honor my love; 
But though I can sing as softly as a cooing dove,
Spin like the spider, and brush my hair fire-fine,
The gift of the dance has never been mine."

She sang and she sang, and I would have wept
If I could have broken the spell that held me.
When she was done filling the bucket, she crept
Over to the fountain, and upon its bright beauty
She gazed, while her tears made a second fountain.
I lay there, only half-waking, in the shade of the Mountain.

At last, she lifted her head, and from the faery fountain
Began to turn away, back to the world of her folk.
But then she halted, and looked upon the Mountain.
And I have never been so glad that from sleep I woke,
For I saw in her eyes a daring glint of longing that grew
Into a yearning that changed her eyes to bright blue.

She drew off her slippers, and laid her bucket down,
Then turned and freed the hair that, like the fountain,
Went springing from green roots to a foam-white crown.
She began to dance in the shade of the Mountain,
Her face soft and incredulous, her voice a chorus,
Rapturous and yearning as a bird in the forest.

"Tomorrow I am to be wed, and tonight at the fountain
I am dancing-I can-in the shade of the Mountain.
I am dancing, since I can, to honor my love;
I am flying as does her mate to the dove.
I am swaying as the grape does when upon the vine.
The gift of the dance, at last, is mine!"

So she sang, and as she danced, her fair smile
Lit up her face, and to see it I felt so glad.
I hoped that she would linger, dancing, a while;
I may be only a simple hunter's youngest lad,
But I know beauty, and like the faery fountain,
That was beauty there, in the shade of the Mountain.

She whirled, challenging the skirts of the fountain,
For her hair whirled in a dance of its own as pale
As the hidden snow on the summit of the Mountain,
As the clouds that the middle heaven pace and sail.
Her eyes glowed green and blue, the color of water,
And her laughter rang out; she was dance's daughter.

She whirled away at last, her feet rising and falling,
Her arms waving graceful as the leap of the fountain,
Her face like the stillness when the birds their calling
Have ceased in the shadows that fall down the Mountain.
She danced, and all the while sang a final fading chorus
That was as soft as the sound of the owl in the forest.

"Tomorrow I am to be wed, and tonight at the fountain
I have danced-I did-in the shade of the Mountain.
I have danced, since I can, to honor my love;
I have danced, and I can sing like the dove,
Spin like the spider, and brush my hair fire-fine.
And the gift of dancing as the wind is mine!"

She danced away, and from that day to this
I have never seen her, nor anything half so fair.
But I do not care, for in that half-waking bliss
I am certain that I saw Grace and Beauty there,
That I saw them dancing there at the faery fountain,
Tomorrow to be wed in the shade of the Mountain.