Faerie
Poetry
Page
1
I
have decided to put together some pages of Poetry
For
each subject I can find. This one is dedicated to
The
Fey.
About
The Faeries
Pray,
where are the little bluebells gone,
That
lately blossomed in the wood?
Why,
the little fairies have each taken one,
And
put it on for a hood.
And
where are the pretty grass-stalks gone,
That
waved in the summer breeze?
Oh,
the little fairies have taken them, every one,
To
plant in their gardens like trees.
And
where are the great big blue-bottles gone,
That
buzzed in their busy pride?
Oh,
the faeries have caught them, every one,
And
have broken them in, to ride.
And
they've taken the glow-worms to light their halls,
And
the cricket to sing them a song;
And
the great red rose leaves to paper their walls,
And
they're feasting the whole night long.
And
when Spring comes back, with its soft mild ray,
And
the ripple of gentle rain,
The
fairies bring what they've taken away,
And
give it us all again.
.....Jean
Ingelow
Where
The Bee Sucks
Where
the bee sucks, there suck I:
In
a cowslip's bell I lie;
There
I couch when the owls do cry.
On
the bat's back I do fly
After
summer merrily.
Merrily,
merrily shall I live now
Under
the blossom that hangs on the bough.
.....Shakespear
I'd
love to be a Fairy's Child
Children
born of fairy stock
Never
need for shirt or frock,
Never
want for food or fire,
Always
get their hearts desire:
Jingle
pockets full of gold,
Marry
when they're seven years old,
Every
fairy child may keep
Two
strong ponies and ten sheep;
All
have houses each his own,
Built
of brick or granite stone;
They
live on cherries, they run wild-
I'd
love to be a fairy's child.
.....Robert
Graves
The
Fairy Flute
My
brother has a little flute
Of
gold and ivory,
He
found it on a summer night
Within
a hollow tree,
He
plays it every morning
And
every afternoon,
And
all the little singing-birds
Listen
to the tune.
He
plays it in the meadows,
And
everywhere he walks
The
flowers start a-nodding
And
dancing on their stalks.
He
plays it in the village,
And
all along the street
The
people stop to listen,
The
music is so sweet.
And
none but he can play it
And
none can understand,
Because
it is a fairy flute
And
comes from Fairyland.
.....Rose
Fyleman
Picnics
If
you go a-picnicking and throw your scraps about,
You'll
never see the little folk go running in and out;
And
if you leave your orange-peel all litered on the grass,
You'll
never go to Fairy Land or see the fairies pass.
For empty
tins and tangled strings
And paper
bags are not the things
To scatter
where the linnet sings.
So
if you go a-picnicking remember you're a guest
Of
all the tiny people, and you'll really find it best
To
leave their ballroom tidy and to clear away the mess,
And
perhaps you'll see a fairy in her newest dancing dress.
But
paper bags and broken combs
Will
really wreck the pixie homes
And
frighten all the tiny gnomes.
But
if you go a-picnicking and you are elfin wise,
You'll
maybe hear with fairy ears and see with fairy eyes;
The
little folk will welcome you, and they will open wide
The
hidden doors of Fairy Land, and you will pass inside,
And
maybe see a baby fay
White
cradled in a cherry spray,
Although
it is a Bank Holiday.
.....from
"Punch"
Who'll
Help a Fairy
"Oh!
what shall I do?" sobbed a tiny mole,
"A
Fairy has stumbled into my hole;
It
is full of water and crewling things,
And
she can't get out, for she's hurt her wings.
"I
did my best to catch hold of her hair,
But
my arms are short, and she's still in there.
Oh!
help her, white rabbit, your arms are very long;
You
say you're good, and I know your strong."
"Dont
bother me," the white rabbit said-
She
shut up her eyes and her ears grew red-
"There's
lots of mud and its sure to stick
On
my beautiful fur, so white and thick."
"Oh
dear! oh dear!" sobbed the poor little mole,
"Who'll
help the Fairy out of the hole?"
A
little brown rabbit popped up from the gorse,
"I'm
not very strong, but I'll try, of course."
His
little tail bobbed as he waddled in,
The
muddy water came up to his chin;
But
he caught the Fairy tight by the hand,
And
helped her get to Fairyland.
But
she kissed him first on his muddy nose,
She
kissed his face and his little wet toes;
And
when the day dawned in the early light,
The
common brown rabbit was silvery white.
...Charlotte
Druit Cole
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