The forest of Arden’s full of gin;
The gin-soaked songbird sleeps within:
To sing a song she does begin;
And singing, makes a merry din;

And windbell faintly rings somewhere;
Hark, and dance to the windy air—
Sing ding-dong bell; this is a spell;
The singer has a tale to tell:
To Arden come, and spellbound be,
Myriads of wonderments to see.

Ariel and Puck run, peep, and blink;
Wayfaring dwarfs go trip and swink;
Old hags in shadows grin and wink,
Twitching their many a knotted kink;
Horned beetles suck upon the dew;
Fogged runnels exhale a mystic hue.
And knights of arms on steeds arrive;
Kings lying low, full-fathom-five.
From charmed waters stoop to drink,
Of things long past to brood and think;
On meadows sweet for rest to sink,
Midst roses red, and blossoms pink.
Lines amorous in vain to spin,
Confessions of love on leaves to pin,
And songs affectionate strive to sing:
Orlando, Oliver, Charles the king—
Behold, alive is everything!
Angelica, Celia, Rosalind,
Into the woods, and lost, and blind.

Faintly from nowhere windbells ring;
With jingling laughter echoing.
Sing ding-dong bell; this is a spell;
The singer has a tale to tell:
To Arden gone, and world, farewell.