Fairy Fell

No drib-o-drag in windsock bag;
Night hangs still on fairy hill.
Flecked with moonlight fairy rill
On mossed stone trickle spill.

Pale, forlorn, how high the moon
Rises like a silvery spoon,
Over bracken and heather bell,
Casting wide its icy spell,
On broad-backed brows of fairy fell.

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