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Poetry


The Flowers

by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things,
Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees for tiny dames--
These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where, if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all.

 

The Find

by Francis Ledwidge (1887-1917)

I took a reed and blew a tune,
And sweet it was and very clear
To be about a little thing
That only few hold dear.

Three times the cuckoo named himself,
But nothing heard him on the hill,
Where I was piping like an elf
The air was very still.

'Twas all about a little thing
I made a mystery of sound,
I found it in a fairy ring
Upon a fairy mound.

 

A Fairy Song

by William Percy French (1854-1920)

Stay, silver ray,
Till the airy way we wing
To the shade of the glade
Where the fairies dance and sing:
The mortals are asleep -
They can never understand
That night brings delight,
It is day in Fairyland

Float, golden note,
From the lute strings all in tune,
Climb, quiv'ring chime,
Up the moonbeams to the moon.
There is music on the river,
There is music on the strand,
Night brings delight,
It is day in Fairyland.

Sing while we swing
From the bluebell's lofty crest.
Hey! Come and play,
Sleepy songbirds in your nest;
The glow-worm lamps are lit,
Come and join our Elfin band,
Night brings delight,
It is day in Fairyland.'

Roam thro' the home
Where the little children sleep,
Light in our flight
Where the curly ringlets peep.
Some shining eyes may see us,
But the babies understand,
Night brings delight, It is day in Fairyland.

 

 

I Stood Against The Window

by Rose Fyleman (1987-1957)

I STOOD against the window

And looked between the bars,
And there were strings of fairies

Hanging from the stars;
Everywhere and everywhere

In shining, swinging chains;
The air was full of shimmering,

Like sunlight when it rains.

They kept on swinging, swinging,

They flung themselves so high
They caught upon the pointed moon

And hung across the sky.
And when I woke next morning,

There still were crowds and crowds
In beautiful bright bunches

All sleeping on the clouds.

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The Wood Fairy

Used with permission, Image © Josephine Wall