VISION

I've seen her, I've seen her
Beneath an apple-tree;
The minute that I saw her there
With stars and dewdrops in her hair
I knew it must be she.
She's sitting on a dragon-fly
All shining green and gold;
The dragon-fly goes circling round
A little way above the ground—
She isn't taking hold.

I've seen her, I've seen her,
I never, never knew
That anything could be so sweet;
She has the tiniest hands and feet,
Her wings are very blue.
She holds her little head like this
Because she is a queen;
(I can't describe it all in words)
She's throwing kisses to the birds
And laughing in between.

I've seen her, I've seen her—
I simply ran and ran;
Put down your sewing quickly, please,
Let's hurry to the orchard trees
As softly as we can.
I had to go and leave her there,
I felt I couldn't stay,
I wanted you to see her too—
But oh, whatever shall we do
If she has flown away?

PLEASE

Please be careful where you tread,
The fairies are about;
Last night, when I had gone to bed,
I heard them creeping out.
And wouldn't it be a dreadful thing
To do a fairy harm?
To crush a little delicate wing
Or bruise a tiny arm?
They're all about the place, I know,
So do be careful where you go.

Please be careful what you say,
They're often very near,
And though they turn their heads away
They cannot help but hear.
And think how terribly you would mind
If, even for a joke,
You said a thing that seemed unkind
To the dear little fairy folk.
I'm sure they're simply everywhere,
So promise me that you'll take care.

THE DAPHNE BUSH

All about the daphne bush the happy fairies went,
And spread abroad their silken hair to catch its magic scent;
They chanted little silver tunes, they danced the whole day long;
The rosy bush was ringed around with chains of coloured song.

They danced, they sang, they flung about their tiny fairy names,
Till swiftly over all the sky there ran the sunset flames;
Then high into the glowing air they leapt with joyful shout,
And with the ruddy shreds of mist they wrapped themselves about.

Into my quiet garden close they swiftly dropped again
(The music of their merriment tinkled like falling rain);
Laughing they swayed, while from their hair they shook the
warm perfume,
Till all the place seemed filled with clouds of drifting
daphne bloom.

ALMS IN AUTUMN

Spindle-wood, spindle-wood, will you lend me, pray,
A little flaming lantern to guide me on my way?
The fairies all have vanished from the meadow and the glen
And I would fain go seeking till I find them once again.
Lend me now a lantern that I may bear a light
To find the hidden pathway in the darkness of the night.

Ash-tree, ash-tree, throw me, if you please,
Throw me down a slender bunch of russet-gold keys.
I fear the gates of Fairyland may all be shut so fast
That nothing but your magic keys will ever take me past.
I'll tie them to my girdle, and as I go along
My heart will find a comfort in the tinkle of their song.

Holly-bush, holly-bush, help me in my task,
A pocketful of berries is all the alms I ask:
A pocketful of berries to thread in glowing strands
(I would not go a-visiting with nothing in my hands)
So fine will be the rosy chains, so gay, so glossy bright
They'll set the realms of Fairyland all dancing with delight.

FAIRY MUSIC

When the fiddlers play their tunes you may sometimes hear,
Very softly chiming in, magically clear,
Magically high and sweet, the tiny crystal notes
Of fairy voices bubbling free from tiny fairy throats.

When the birds at break of day chant their morning prayers,
Or on sunny afternoons pipe ecstatic airs,
Comes an added rush of sound to the silver din—
Songs of fairy troubadours gaily joining in.

When athwart the drowsy fields summer twilight falls,
Through the tranquil air there float elfin madrigals
And in wild November nights, on the winds astride,
Fairy hosts go rushing by, singing as they ride.

Every dream that mortals dream, sleeping or awake,
Every lovely fragile hope—these the fairies take,
Delicately fashion them and give them back again
In tender, limpid melodies that charm the hearts of men.

THE HAYFIELD

Over the field the fairies went
Singing and dancing and well content;
Over the field of sweet warm grass
I saw their shimmering cohorts pass.

The clover flamed to a ruddier glow,
The slender buttercups curtseyed low,
The wondering daisies, innocent-eyed,
Bowed their heads to the radiant tide.

And flirting butterflies, pearly white,
Left the flowers for a new delight,
Left their loves for the fairies' sake,
And fluttered dizzily in their wake.

Over the swaying grass they swept,
Over the hedgerow soared and leapt,
Broke and scattered in golden spray,
Gleamed and glittered—and melted away.

THE ISLAND

I know an island in a lake,
Green upon waters grey;
It has a strange enchanted air;
I hear the fairies singing there
When I go by that way.

They guard their hidden dwelling-place
With bands of stalwart reeds,
But sometimes, by a happy chance,
I see them all come out and dance
Upon the water-weeds.

One night, one summer night, I know
Suddenly I shall wake,
And very softly hasten down
And out beyond the sleeping town
To find my fairy lake.

I shall not need to seek a boat,
It will be moored, I think,
Within a tiny pebbled bay
Where meadow-sweet and mallow sway
Close to the water's brink.

The moon from shore to shadowy shore
Will make a shining trail,
And I shall sing their fairy song
As joyfully I float along—
I shall not need a sail.

And peering through a starlit haze
I presently shall see,
Where swift the waiting reeds unclose,
The fairies all in rows and rows
Waiting to welcome me.

SMITH SQUARE, WESTMINSTER

In Smith Square, Westminster, the houses stand so prim,
With slender railings at their feet and windows straight and slim;
And all day long they staidly stare with gentle placid gaze,
And dream of joyous happenings in splendid bygone days.

In Smith Square, Westminster, you must not make a noise,
No shrill-voiced vendors harbour there, no shouting errand-boys;
But very busy gentlemen step swiftly out and in
With little leather cases and umbrellas neatly thin.

Yet sometimes when the summer night her starry curtain spreads,
And all the busy gentlemen are sleeping in their beds,
You hear a gentle humming like the humming of a hive,
And Smith Square, Westminster, begins to come alive.

For all the houses start to sing, honey-sweet and low,
The tender little lovely songs of long and long ago,
And all the fairies round about come hastening up in crowds,
Until the quiet air is filled with rainbow-coloured clouds.

On roof and rail and chimney-pot they delicately perch,
They hang like jewelled fringes on the ledges of the church;
They dance about the roadway upon nimble, noiseless feet,
While the houses keep on chanting with a soft enticing beat.

And still they weave their sparkling webs and still they
leap and whirl
Until the far horizon's edge is faintly rimmed with pearl,
And the morning breeze blows out the stars discreetly, one by one,
And the sentries on the Abbey signal down—"The Sun—the Sun!"

And long before the butlers stumble drowsily downstairs,
And long before their masters have begun to say their prayers,
The fairies all have pranced away upon the morning beams,
And Smith Square, Westminster, is wrapped once more in dreams.

THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS

She wanders in the forest with wide and solemn eyes;
A little shade of wilderment across her forehead lies.

No timid woodland creature her footfall need affright,
The shadow of her floating hair is not more soft and light.

She hears the gentle cadence of bird and wind and stream,
They make a little song for her, like singing in a dream.

Across the distant valley the pleasant sunbeams fall;
The children in the cowslip field merrily laugh and call.

She does not hear their laughter, she does not feel the sun,
She cannot leave the shadowed wood until the spell is done.

THE GOBLIN TO THE FAIRY QUEEN

What do you lack, queen, queen,
That is precious and fine and rare?
A jewelled snood that shall lie between
The delicate waves of your hair?
I will ride through the sky on the evening wind
With a golden needle and thread,
And string up the tiniest stars I can find,
To glitter about your head.

What can I do, queen, queen,
To hasten the hours along
When you grow weary of woodland green,
Weary of woodland song?
A cage of gossamer gold I will tie
On to a skylark's wing,
And there you shall hang in the midst of the sky
And tremble to hear him sing.

Grant me a boon, queen, queen;
This is the boon that I ask—
Let me do service, mighty or mean,
Give me a task, a task.
Are there no jackanapes giants to slay?
Are there no dragons to fight?
Nothing shall daunt me by dark or by day;
Make me your goblin knight!

THE FAIRY QUEEN TO THE GOBLIN

Last night I heard a singing—a singing in my dreams,
It wandered through my land of sleep like little silver streams;
Like little purling silver streams that gently laugh and coo—
Goblin with the shining eyes, goblin, was it you?

Softer than the tender croon of my happy doves,
Sweeter than my nightingales pouring forth their loves,
Clearer than my valiant lark triumphant in the blue;
Goblin with the whimsic smile, goblin, was it you?

All night long the singer stayed close beside my bower,
Weaving his enchanted songs, till that magic hour
When the early morning light creeps across the dew;
Goblin with the steadfast heart, goblin, was it you?

FAIRIES IN AUTUMN

You perch upon the leaves where the trees are very high,
And you all shout together as the wind goes by;
The merry mad wind sets the leaves all afloat,
And off you go a-sailing in an airy wee boat.

You fly to the edges of a grim grey cloud,
And you all start a-dancing and a-singing very loud;
The cloud melts away in a shower of peevish rain
And you slide down from heaven on a slim silver chain.

TREES AND FAIRIES

The larch-tree gives them needles
To stitch their gossamer things;
Carefully, cunningly toils the oak
To shape the cups of the fairy folk;
The sycamore gives them wings.

The lordly fir-tree rocks them
High on his swinging sails;
The hawthorn fashions their tiny spears;
The whispering alder charms their ears
With soft, mysterious tales.

The chestnut gives them candles
To make their ballroom fine;
And the elder-bush and the hazel tree
Assist their delicate revelry
With nuts and fragrant wine.

FAIRIES IN THE MALVERNS

As I walked over Hollybush Hill
The sun was low and the winds were still,
And never a whispering branch I heard
Nor ever the tiniest call of a bird.

And when I came to the topmost height
Oh, but I saw such a wonderful sight:
All about on the hill-crest there
The fairies danced in the golden air.

Danced and frolicked with never a sound
In and out in a magical round;
Wide and wider the circle grew
Then suddenly melted into the blue.

* * * * * * *

As I walked down into Eastnor Vale
The stars already were twinkling pale,
And over the spaces of dew-white grass
I saw a marvellous pageant pass.

Tiny riders on tiny steeds,
Decked with blossoms and armed with reeds,
With gossamer banners floating far
And a radiant queen in an ivory car.

The beeches spread their petticoats wide
And curtseyed low upon either side;
The rabbits scurried across the glade
To peep at the glittering cavalcade.

Far and farther I saw them go
And vanish into the woods below;
Then over the shadowy woodland ways
I wandered home in a sweet amaze.

* * * * * * *

But Malvern people need fear no ill
Since fairies bide in their country still.

THE FAIRIES SEND MESSENGERS

They sent a stout little red-breast bird;
He sang from the garden wall;
Surely, oh, surely the children heard,
But never they came to his call.

They sent a capering, glad young breeze;
He shouted, he rattled about;
But the children sat with their books on their knees
And gave no heed to his shout.

They sent a bee in a velvet coat,
Busily, busily gay;
He hummed his tale on a spirited note
But the children chased him away.

They sent a brave little fairy sprite;
She peeped round the window frame;
The children looked, and their eyes grew bright,
And they came!

DUNSLEY GLEN

There is no road to Dunsley Glen,
I should not know the way again
Because the fairies took me there,
Down by a little rocky stair—
A little stair all twists and turns,
Half hidden by the spreading ferns.

High overhead the trees were green,
With little bits of blue between,
So high that they could see, I'm sure,
Beyond the wood, beyond the moor,
The water many miles away
Mistily shining in the bay.

Deep in the glen a streamlet cool
Ran down into a magic pool,
With mossy caverns all about
Where fairies fluttered in and out;
Their sparkling wings and golden hair
Made dancing twinkles here and there.

I stood and watched them at their play
Until I dared no longer stay;
I knew that I might seek and seek
On every day of every week
Ere I should find the place again—
There is no road to Dunsley Glen.