The poem
The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn, And up from India glances The silver sail of dawn.
The candles burn their sockets, The blinds let through the day, The young man feels his pockets And wonders what's to pay.
The Fairies Break Their Dances
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to me when i read this peom i see a man in an art exizbet looking for just the right painting that speeks to his soul....i guess that fairies just do it for him?