Review? This is the longest poem I've ever written; more of an epic ballad, actually, where I've tried for a somewhat different style... Anyway. Tell me how I'm doing, prithee!

Thou art come to the Wishing Well

though thine eyes may not see – a spell,

all sere and grey about the rim,

does keep from sight the waters dim;

and none who seek with mortal sight

may pierce the numinous mist-light.

From ebon bowls the silver mist

rises to wreathe and sway and list

‘til round the well-stones it has bent,

and to the moistened air has lent

a magic hue. With wizardry

the bowls are carven, three times three

the circling infinities

and spells and charms and glamouries,

with spells of prisonment and sleep

from vapours carven bowls do keep.

-

Now closer to the well thou go’st,

and faintly spy a silent host.

First here, then there, then (neverwhere) -

fading, dancing in frozen air

above, about the agéd stone

in ecstasy. Ascending, lone,

peerless, matchless, the bright full moon

above the water forms a rune:

the silver vapours o’er the mere

come, thick and bright and charmed and sheer,

winding weïrds of sorcery

and binding spells and wizardry

to rest on thee, who darest come

disturb…

-

Now shalt thy limbs be numb,

thy lips unmoved, thy footsteps stilled,

thy mind be slow and blood be chilled,

and bound thou stand before the well

to mark the flowing ebb and swell

of Fae Folk dancers glistening;

to silence thou art listening,

to half-heard, half-felt, half-undreamed

harps and pipes and, deeply seamed,

the rolling strains of wind and breeze

that seem to fly from midnight seas;

to melodies unheard as yet,

created ere the sun had set

on that first day when the world was made -

there unicorns lay in the shade

and Fae Folk sang in living glade

and bright musics untold were made –

before technology was loosed

and “superstitious” fancies noosed.

-

What brought thee here? A dream half-spun,

a fantasy ‘neath living sun?

Didst hope to catch a fleeting glimpse

of iridescent moon-lit nymphs,

or perchance a glimmer spy

of Fae Folk dancing with widened eye?

And chained and bound now dost thou stand

with shiver’d blood and frozen hand

in penance for secret desire.

Dost see, now, why, by pale star-fire

Thou shouldst never go at stroke

Of full moon’s rise to watch Fae Folk?

-

And swift they turn, and round they dance

(and thou dost fall to waking trance)

about the well-stones glimmering

and drifting grey mist shimmering,

fading in smoke-wound arches; slow

their movements be, though swift they go

before unseeing watching gaze

to spin and drape a curtain’d haze

about the trees and grass and stone,

lit by the ethereal and lone

moon at her height. Clothed all in hues

of living glades and skybound mews,

of flowing water, thunderstorms,

and starlight wrapped about lithe forms

that swifter dart within the air;

the runic symbols carven there

upon the bowls, upon the air

and well by moonlight spark and flare.

-

Alone a star is quivering,

in frosty heavens shivering,

before to earth it sudden falls,

deserting well-known frozen halls.

And with that fall more stars do quake

and from their steadfast moorings shake

loose to race swift across the night,

illuminating with that light

(which once did play in Heaven’s realm

above the stream and beech and elm,

above the falcons, o’er the sea,

ere thou wert ever come to be)

the shining mist and Fae Folk dance,

which still thou watch in seeming trance.

-

But now the half-seen fading folk

quicken the twirling, heartfires stoke

with melodies swifter shimmering

in concentric rings glimmering

as the star-shower bolder comes,

and one brighter, one greater plumbs

in a plunging fall the well’s deeps:

fountaining crystal water seeps

into the earth. And the well-stones

gleam, calescent, numinous tones

of silver, emerald, ruby,

sapphire as of the deepest sea,

radiant with a living light

born of starfire in blackest night.

By that light the mist does dance,

and a spearing bright white lance

raises forth to bridge the night moon

and the Wishing Well. Bright a tune

arises at that quickening

as the stones, awakening,

separate the mortar binding

each to each, and raise, and winding

ponderous and slow, they turn

to song (that makes thy heart to yearn

for days of Eden, ere the world

sullied by sin was backward hurled

and now perfect shall never be

until that day of days, when thee

and all thy kin hast ever made

shall be wrought new and free of shade)

interweaving with spinning Fae

Folk, in a frame not reached by day.

-

And still they go, and still they dance,

and still art thou there, bound in trance,

for this for ever shalt thou see,

to all else blind thine eyes shall be,

ever watching with fierce delight

and mingled sorrow, that this night

should never more give way to dawn

nor music fade to speech upon

thine ears, nor light e’er cease as roke…

see’st thou now to ‘ware Fae Folk?

Well? -rubs hands together- I really would be most appreciative of a review...