In the Small Hours

I lay in my bed and fiddled
   With a dreamland viol and bow,
And the tunes flew back to my fingers
   I had melodied years ago.
It was two or three in the morning
   When I fancy-fiddled so
Long reels and country-dances,
   And hornpipes swift and slow.

And soon anon came crossing
   The chamber in the gray
Figures of jigging fieldfolk—
   Saviours of corn and hay—
To the air of " Haste to the Wedding",
   As after a wedding-day;
Yea, up and down the middle
   In windless whirls went they!

There danced the bride and bridegroom,
   And couples in a train,
Gay partners time and travail
   Had longwhiles stilled amain! . . .
It seemed a thing for weeping
   To find, at slumber's wane
And morning's sly increeping,
   That Now, not Then, held reign.