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THE STOLEN CHILD
By
William Butler Yeats
WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scare could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.
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THE FAIRY CHILD
By
Lord Dunsany
From the low white walls and
the church's steeple,
From our little fields under grass or grain,
I'm gone away to the fairy people
I shall not come to the town again.
You may see a girl with my face and tresses,
You may see one come to my mother's door
Who may speak my words and may wear my dresses.
She will not be I, for I come no more.
I am gone, gone far, with the fairies roaming,
You may ask of me where the herons are
In the open marsh when the snipe are homing,
Or when no moon lights nor a single star.
On
stormy nights when the streams are foaming
And a hint may come of my haunts afar,
With the reeds my floor and my roof the gloaming,
But I come no more to Ballynar.
Ask Father Ryan to read no verses
To call me back, for I am this day
From blessings far, and beyond curses.
No heaven shines where we ride away.
At speed unthought of in all your stables,
With the gods of old and the sons of Finn,
With the queens that reigned in the olden fables
And kings that won what a sword can win.
You may hear us streaming above your gables
On nights as still as a planet's spin;
But never stir from your chairs and tables
To call my name. I shall not come in.
For I am gone to the fairy people.
Make the most of that other child
Who prays with you by the village steeple
I am gone away to the woods and wild.
I am gone away to the open spaces,
And whither riding no man may tell;
But I shall look upon all your faces
No more in Heaven or Earth or Hell.
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THE FAERY QUEEN
By
Unknown
I walked upon a starlit night, it was the winter cold
I waited for the Moon to rise, and show what Fate would hold
Twas then I saw a Lady Fair with eyes of deepest green
Her hair was firey strands of light, like none I'd ever seen
Her step made no sound as she passed her body was so slight
And I was sure that if she would, she surely could take flight
She stopped before she passed me by - These words she said to me
Come and let us make our bed beneath yon Greenwood tree
Before you take your leave come Day, one gift I'll give to thee
The gift I give will be whatever you shall ask of me
I lay with her the whole night through and clasped her to my chest
And knew before the morning's dew no gift would give me rest
Excepting if my Lady Fair would ever with me stay
And never would we part again or go our seperate way
I see that you have made your wish, my lady to me said
And then she placed a silver crown upon my waethered head
For she was Queen of all the Fey, and I am now their King
And if you pass the Greenwood tree, you'll sometimes hear us sing
We sing of winters long and cold and springtimes warm and bright
And of a Lady's wondrous hair, of firy strands of light |
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UNTITLED
By
Fiona McCleod
Fair
is the moonlight and fair the wood,
But not so fair as the place I come from.
Why did I leave it, the beautiful country
Where Death is only a drifting Shadow?
O face of Love, of Dream and Longing,
There is sorrow upon me that I am here.
I will go back to the Country of the Young,
and see again the lances of the sídhe.
As they keep hosting with laughing cries
in pale places under the moon.
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I'D LOVE TO BE A FAIRY'S CHILD
By
Robert Graves
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 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. |
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FAERY MIST
By
Emillo
In the shade where the maidens wade,
The dew sleeps on the petals,
With an acorn cap and the scent of sap,
A lonely pixie meddles,
The mushroom springs from a mossy bed,
Of fragrant moonlight dreaming,
And from the fire in the head,
Enchanted rivers streaming,
Through the mist on the waters of dreaming,
Oh drink now from the river of sight,
Where the unseen world is wildly weaving,
In the melancholy wood of night…
The silky luminescent wings,
Of midnights’ moonbeam riddles,
Sung upon the silver strings,
Of starlit forest fiddles,
The spiral of the branches reach,
The pattern of all life,
Written in the melody,
Upon a faery fife,
Through the mist on the waters of dreaming,
Oh drink now from the river of sight,
Where the unseen world is wildly weaving,
In the melancholy wood of night…
The ivy crowns and lichen gowns,
Of dryads’ woven dances,
Perched upon a toadstool throne,
A midnight faery glances,
Under the hill in the wild night,
The one the pixies kissed,
Hidden from all doubtful sight,
The treasures of the mist,
Through the mist on the waters of dreaming,
Oh drink now from the river of sight,
Where the unseen world is wildly weaving,
In the melancholy wood of night…
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THE BLUEBELL FAIRIES
By
Howard E. Altemus
(from Mother Nature Stories - 1908)
When all is dark and quiet,
And nobody’s about,
‘Tis then the bluebell fairies
Come dancing softly out.
They first peep from the bluebells
To see that no one’s there —
At us they might be frightened;
They don’t mind Mr. Hare!
They tell him elfin stories
Of wonder and delight,
And creep, when morning wakens,
Back in the bluebells bright.
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FAIRY FROST
By
Hazel Adell Jackson
Sometime between the dusk and dawn a mystic blanket fell,
And made the old earth like some place where only fairies dwell.
For each seemed dipped in festive frost, with glimmering jewels fraught,
And magic on each bare, plain twig, festoons of silver wrought.
Each bush was changed from dull, dead brown, to glistening, gleaming white,
As fair as Summer’s fresh fair green and blue and rose and white.
All through the air there seemed a mist of diamond dust so fine,
’Till every bush and branch and limb, in radiance seemed to shine.
Each tinseled shrub and vine drooped down with fairy jewels bent;
Against the azure of the sky their shining brightness blent,
And slowly yielding to the rays that shone in brightness sun
The fairyland soon disappeared, the trees were bare and brown.
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WEE PLUNDERER
By
Donna L. Ferguson Dudley
I came upon a sight, so rare, I'd never thought I would behold,
A tiny little Fairy lass, 'mid my blackberries making bold,
To spirit my sweet fruits away, but never think I had a care!
So welcome was she to partake, this Fairy with the flaxen hair!
A tiny fruit quite filled her hand; how generous I longed to be,
To give her baskets filled to brim, if only she had trust in me.
But shy are Fairies, this I knew, so silently I slipped away,
To leave my patch for plundering, my offering to this tiny Fae.
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THE SECRET
By
Donna L. Ferguson Dudley
Warm, before a fire, coal-fed, wee Fairy rests her little head,
Upon a furry kitten's side, and into sweetest dreams, does slide.
The kitten's gentle rumble shows, she's caught, in comfortable repose.
Then, but for intermittent snores, and coal-fire's dance, there's little more,
Until, as night bows down, to dawn, the kitten stretches out, and yawns,
And Fairy stretches, in her turn, as last, of coal, to cinders, burns.
And, snuggled down, in their bedrooms, beneath warm quilts, the children soon,
Will waken, yawning, stretching, too, as children, are so apt, to do,
Then, they'll pad in, for kitten play, but Fairy will have slipped, away.
And, 'hind friend kitten's amber eyes, their secret's kept, as Fairy flies.
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Back to the Faery Pool
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