Thick lies the mist on elf-haunted hollows,
a gossamer veil of moon-woven silver,
spun of fine dew in lace incandescent.
Beneath the moonbeams of light opalescent
footprints of dancers fade yet still glimmer.
My steps as heavy as white stone of barrows
encumbered stumble. Elusive they flitter,
the dancers that vanish on grass viridescent.
Lingering casting their light iridescent,
far laughing stars among the trees flicker.
Thick lies the mist where no man can follow.