I. When The Lily Nods In Slumber, And The Roses All Are Sleeping; When The Night Hangs Deep And Umber, And The Stars Their Watch Are Keeping; When The Clematis Uncloses Like A Hand Of Snowy Fire, And The Golden-Lipped Primroses, To The Tiger-Moths' Desire, Each A Mouth Of Musk Unpuckers Silken Pouts Of Scented Sweetness, That They Sip With Honey-Suckers; Shod With Hush And Winged With Fleetness, You May See The Little People, 'Round And 'Round The Drowsy Steeple Of A Belfried Hollyhock, Clothed In Phlox And Four-O'Clock, Gay Of Gown And Pantaloon, Dancing By The Glimmering Moon, Till The Cock, The Long-Necked Cock, Crows Them They Must Vanish Soon. Ii. When The Cobweb Is A Cradle For The Dreaming Dew To Sleep In; And Each Blossom Is A Ladle That The Perfumed Rain Lies Deep In; When The Gleaming Fireflies Scribble Darkness As With Lines Flame-Tragic, And The Night Seems Some Dim Sibyl Speaking Gold, Or Wording Magic Silent-Syllabled And Golden; Capped With Snapdragon And Hooded With The Sweet-Pea, Vague-Beholden, You May See The Little People, Underneath The Sleepy Steeple Of A Towering Mullen-Stock, Trip It Over Moss And Rock To The Owlet'S Elvish Tune And The Tree-Toad'S Gnome Bassoon, Till The Cock, The Barnyard Cock, Crows Them They Must Vanish Soon. Iii. When The Wind Upon The Water Seems A Boat Of Ray And Ripple, That Some Fairy Moonbeam Daughter Steers With Sails That Drift And Dripple; When The Sound Of Grig And Cricket, Ever Singing, Ever Humming, Seems A Goblin In The Thicket On His Elfin Viol Strumming; When The Toadstool, Coned And Milky, Heaves A Roof For Snails To Clamber; Thistledown- And Milkweed-Silky, With Loose Locks Of Jade And Amber, You May See The Little People, Underneath The Pixy Steeple Of A Dom?D Mushroom, Flock, Quaint In Wildflower Vest And Frock, Whirling By The Waning Moon To The Whippoorwill'S Weird Tune, Till The Cock, The Far-Off Cock, Crows Them They Must Vanish Soon.