There is a morn by men unseen

There is a morn by men unseen
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name
Employ their holiday.

Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street
Nor by the wood are found
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year’s distaff idle hung
And summer’s brows were bound.

Ne’er saw I such a wondrous scene
Ne’er such a ring on such a green
Nor so serene array
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite
And revel till the day

Like thee to dance like thee to sing
People upon the mystic green
I ask, each new May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells
Unto the different dawn!

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There is a morn by men unseen