The kith of the Elf-folk went abroad by night
To make a soul for the little Wild Thing
And they went over the marshes
Till they came to the high fields among the flowers and grasses
There they gathered a large piece of gossamer
That the spider had laid by twilight; and the dew was on it
Into this dew had shone all the lights
Of the long banks of the ribbed sky
As all the colours changed in the restful spaces of evening
And over it the marvellous night had gleamed with all its stars
Then the Wild Things went with their dew-bespangled gossamer
Down to the edge of their home
And there they gathered a piece of the grey mist
That lies by night over the marshlands
And into it they put the melody of the waste
That is borne up and down the marshes
In the evening on the wings of the golden plover
And they put into it, too, the mournful song
That the reeds are compelled to sing
Before the presence of the arrogant North Wind
And to all this they added a few images of the stars
That they gathered out of the water
Still the soul that the kith of the Elf-folk were making had no life
Then they put into it the low voices of two lovers
That went walking in the night wandering late alone
The Wild Things put into the piece of haze
That they had gathered in the marshlands
And wrapped it all up in their dew-bespangled gossamer
Then the soul lived