A sound as of violins singing, Or in birch and hazel the lisping breeze: Bright moonlight the meadows enringing, Night´s blackness under the trees: And waving tresses and glimpses fleet Of fairies tripping and flying feet - Ti ta! Ti ta! Ti ta! And a vision of white breasts gleaming, And silk skirts twirling and gauzy hues, And swaying and swinging and streaming, And ripple of light-winged shoes. Who is She that holdeth her aëry ball At midnight´s hour in this moon-white hall? Ti ta! Ti ta! Titania!