As I lay awake in the white moon light,
I heard a faint singing in the wood,
‘Out of bed,
Sleepyhead,
Put your white foot now,
Here are we,
Neath the tree
Singing round the root now!’

 I looked out of window, in the white moon light,
The trees were like snow in the wood–
‘Come away,
Child, and play
Light with the gnomies;
In a mound,
Green and round,
That’s where their home is.
Honey sweet,
Curds to eat,
Cream and frumenty,
Shells and beads,
Poppy seeds,
You shall have plenty.’

 But soon as I stooped in the dim moon light
To put on my stocking and my shoes,
The sweet sweet singing died sadly away,
And the light of the morning peeped through:
Then instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
To sing of the buttercups and dew.

Walter de la Mare

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