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If trees were tall and grasses short,

As in some crazy tale,

If here and there a sea were blue

Beyond the breaking pale,



If a fixed fire hung in the air

To warm me one day through,

If deep green hair grew on great hills,

I know what I should do.



In dark I lie; dreaming that there

Are great eyes cold or kind,

And twisted streets and silent doors,

And living men behind.



Let storm clouds come: better an hour,

And leave to weep and fight,

Than all the ages I have ruled

The empires of the night.



I think that if they gave me leave

Within the world to stand,

I would be good through all the day

I spent in fairyland.



They should not hear a word from me

Of selfishness or scorn,

If only I could find the door,

If only I were born.