A fair town is Shrewsbury–
The world over
You’ll hardly find a fairer,
In its fields of clover
And rest-harrow, ringed
By hills where curlews call,
And, drunken from the heather,
Black bees fall.
Poplars, by Severn,
Lean hand in hand,
Like golden girls dancing
In elfland.
Early there come travelling
On market day
Old men and young men
From far away,
With red fruits of the orchard
And dark fruits of the hill,
Dew-fresh garden stuff
And mushrooms chill,
Honey from the brown skep,
Brown eggs, and posies
Of gillyflowers and Lent lilies
And blush roses.
And sometimes, in a branch of blossom,
Or a lily deep,
An elf comes, plucked with the flower
In her sleep;
Lifts a languid wing, slow and weary,
Veined like a shell;
Listens, with eyes dark and eerie,
To the church bell;
Creeps further within her shelter
Of lilac or lily,
Weaving enchantments,
Laughing stilly.
Neither bells in the steeple
Nor books, old and brown,
Can disenchant the people
In the slumbering town.
(Mary Webb)
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Based on Topics: World Poems, Fairness Poems, Christianity Poems, Flowers Poems, Sleep Poems, People Poems, Books Poems, Listening PoemsBased on Keywords: elfland, gillyflowers, shrewsbury, disenchant, skep, dew-fresh