A Spell (An excellent way to get a Fairy)

Gather, first in your left hand
(This must be at fall of day)
Forty grains of wild sea-sand
Where you think a mermaid lay.
I have heard that it is best
If you gather it, warm and sweet,
Out of the dint of her left breast
Where you see her heart has a beat.

Out of the dint of that sweet sand,
Gather forty grains, I say;
Yet-if it fails you-understand,
There remains a better way.

Out of this you melt your glass
While the veils of night are drawn,
Whipsering, till the shadows pass,
"Nixie-pixie-leprechaun!"
Then you blow your magic vial,
Shape it like a crescent moon,
Set it up and make your trial,
Singing, "Elaby, ah, come soon!"

Round the cloudy crescent go,
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
Nixie-pixie-leprechaun!"

Bring the blood of a white hen
Slaughtered at the break of day,
While the cock, in the fairy glen,
Thrusts his gold neck every way,
Over the brambles, peering, calling,
Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
Far and wide-as dews are falling-
Clamoring, calling, everywhere.

Round the crimson vial go,
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Nixie-pixie-leprechaun!"
If this fail at break of day,
I can show you a better way.

Bring the buds of the hazel-copse,
Where two lovers kissed at noon;
Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops
Where they murmured under the moon.
Bring the four-leaved clover also,
One of the white, and one of the red,
Bring the flakes of the may that fall so
Lightly over their bridal bed.

Drop them into the vial-so-
On the hilltop, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tiptoe
"Nixie-pixie-leprechaun!"
And if once will not suffice,
Do it thrice!
If this fail at break of day,
There remains a better way.

Bring an old and crippled child
-Ah, tread softly, on tip-toe!-
Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild,
From that under-world below,
Bring a wizened child of seven
Reeking from the City slime,
Out of hell into your heaven,
Set her knee-deep in the thyme.

Feed her-clothe her, even so!
Set her on a fairy-throne.
When her eyes begin to glow
Leave her alone for an hour-alone.

You shall need no spells or charms,
On that hill-top, in that dawn.
When she lifts her wasted arms,
You shall see a veil withdrawn.
There shall be no veil between them,
Though her head be old and wise!
You shall know that she has seen them
By the glory in her eyes.

Round her irons on that hill
Earth has tossed a fairy fire:
Watch, and listen, and be still,
Lest you baulk your own desire.

When she sees four azure wings
Light upon her claw-like hand;
When she lifts her head and sings,
You shall hear and understand:
You shall hear a bugle calling
Wildly over the dew-dashed down;
And a sound as of the falling
Ramparts of a conquered town.

You shall hear a sound like thunder;
And a veil shall be withdrawn,
When her eyes grown wide with wonder
On that hill-top, in that dawn.

--Alfred Noyes