The children all go looking

In vain for Fairyland,

Where little folk have dwelling,

And wander hand in hand;

Where silvery small voices

Ring clear upon the air,

Where magic little whispers

Work wonders everywhere;

Where flower fields are forests,

For tiny feet to tread;

Where one has lived a life-time

Before the day is fled.

For this dear wondrous country

The children look in vain;

They find but empty flowers,

It is the grown folks only

Have eyes for Fairyland,

Where little people wander,

And toddle hand in hand;

Where happy voices prattle,

And whisper secrets strange;

Where tiny sprites by magic

To bigger fairies change;

Where dancing little figures

Get lost amid the flowers;

Where days as years are measured,

And minutes count for hours.

It is the grown folk only

Can find the land of elves;

How could the children guess it?

The fairies are themselves.