Upon my field of fantasies,
all green and gold and white,
glimpses only of sweet creatures
are seen in soft twilight.
Above the nearly sleeping world,
a star is shining soft.
A wing-tip darts beside my eyes,
a faery flies aloft.
Upon the rolling, blooming plains,
a noble centaur runs.
He is most ancient and most wise
and, galloping, seems to drum.
Through a secret, winding valley,
a river runs to sea,
where prism people make their homes
to revel and feast with glee.
Within this twilit world of fancy,
a wood grows near the stream.
I see a movement in the trees,
and nymphs begin to sing.
Among these ferns and spritely trees,
with pointed caps and beards,
they walk and whistle jaunty tunes,
for gnomes are not a-feared.
Along the hidden, moonlit path,
delicate hooves do tread.
With purple horn and kindly eyes
a unicorn seeks his bed.
Upon my field of fantasies
a castle rests by sea.
A noble King with flowing beard
Rules humbly, kind, and wise.
I found the picture here. I don’t know who the artist is.