I
I FEAR that Puck is dead it is so long
Since men last saw him; dead with all the rest
Of that sweet elfin crew that made their nest
In hollow nuts, where hazels sing their song;
Dead and for ever, like the antique throng
The elves replaced; the Dryad that you guess’d
Behind the leaves; the Naiad weed-bedress’d;
The leaf-ear’d Faun that loved to lead you wrong.
Tell me, thou hopping Robin, hast thou met
A little man, no bigger than thyself,
Whom they call Puck, where woodland bells are wet?
Tell me, thou Wood-Mouse, hast thou seen an elf
Whom they call Puck, and is he seated yet,
Capp’d with a snail-shell, on his mushroom shelf?
II
The Robin gave three hops, and chirp’d, and said:
“Yes, I knew Puck, and loved him; though I trow
He mimick’d oft my whistle, chuckling low;
Yes, I know cousin Puck; but he is dead.
We found him lying on his mushroom bed
The Wren and I half-cover’d up with snow,
As we were hopping where the berries grow,
We think he died of cold. Ay, Puck is fled.”
And then the Wood-Mouse said “We made the Mole
Dig him a little grave beneath the moss,
And four big Dormice placed him in the hole,
The Squirrel made with sticks a little cross;
Puck was a Christian elf, and had a soul;
And all we velvet jackets mourn his loss.”
(Eugene Lee-Hamilton)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Soul Poems, Christianity Poems, Snow PoemsBased on Keywords: puck, naiad, mushroom, dryad, hopping, mimick, chuckling, hazels, dormice, snail-shell, half-cover