The sun came in yellow and gay light: 
        They tumbled out of the cot,
And half of the dream went with daylight
        And half was never forgot.

—­July 15, 1896

The Chiefs of the Air

Their wise little heads with scorning
        They laid the covers between: 
“Do they think we stay here till morning?”
        Said Rory and Aileen.

When out their bright eyes came peeping
        The room was no longer there,
And they fled from the dark world creeping
        Up a twilight cave of air.

They wore each one a gay dress,
        In sleep, if you understand,
When earth puts off its grey dress
        To robe it in faeryland.

Then loud o’erhead was a humming
        As clear as the wood wind rings;
And here were the air-boats coming
        And here the airy kings.

The magic barks were gleaming
        And swift as the feathered throng: 
With wonder-lights out-streaming
        They blew themselves along.

And up on the night-wind swimming,
        With pose and dart and rise,
Away went the air fleet skimming
        Through a haze of jewel skies.

One boat above them drifted
        Apart from the flying bands,
And an air-chief bent and lifted
        The children with mighty hands.

The children wondered greatly,
        Three air-chiefs met them there,
They were tall and grave and stately
        With bodies of purple air.

A pearl light with misty shimmer
        Went dancing about them all,
As the dyes of the moonbow glimmer
        On a trembling waterfall.

The trail of the fleet to the far lands
        Was wavy along the night,
And on through the sapphire starlands
        They followed the wake of light.

“Look down, Aileen,” said Rory,
        “The earth’s as thin as a dream.” 
It was lit by a sun-fire glory
        Outraying gleam on gleam.

They saw through the dream-world under
        Its heart of rainbow flame
Where the starry people wander;
        Like gods they went and came.

The children looked without talking
        Till Roray spoke again,
“Are those our folk who are walking
        Like little shadow men?

“They don’t see what is about them,
        They look like pigmies small,
The world would be full without them
        And they think themselves so tall!”

The magic bark went fleeting
        Like an eagle on and on;
Till over its prow came beating
        The foam-light of the dawn.

The children’s dream grew fainter,
        Three air-chiefs still were there,
But the sun the shadow painter
        Drew five on the misty air.

The dream-light whirled bewild’ring,
        An air-chief said, “You know. 
You are living now, my children,
        Ten thousand years ago.”