The Rainbow Fairies
Two little clouds, one summer's day,
Went flying through the sky;
They went so fast they bumped their heads,
And both began to cry.
Old Father Sun looked out and said:
'Oh, never mind, my dears,
I'll send my little fairy folk
To dry your falling tears.'
One fairy came in violet,
And one wore indigo;
In blue, green, yellow, orange, red,
They made a pretty row.
They wiped the cloud-tears all away,
And then from out the sky,
Upon a line the sunbeams made,
They hung their gowns to dry.
Author Unknown
The Road to Fairyland
Do you seek the road to Fairyland.....
I'll tell; it's easy, quite.
Wait till a yellow moon gets up
O'er purple seas by night,
And gilds a shining pathway
That is sparkling ♦diamond bright
Then, if no evil power be nigh
To thwart you, out of spite,
And if you know the very words
To cast a spell of might,
You get upon a thistledown,
And, if the breeze is right,
You sail away to Fairyland
Along this track of light.
By Ernest Thompson Seton
The Ruin
When the last colours of the day
Have from their burning ebbed away,
About that ruin, cold and lone,
The cricket shrills from stone to stone;
And scattering o'er its darkened green,
Bands of fairies may be seen,
Clattering like grasshoppers, their feet
Dancing a thistledown dance round it:
While the great gold of the mild moon
Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.
By Walter de la Mare
The Sidhe
When the moon is full
On a starless night
A lone Sidhe puts his lips to the horn
And he begins to blow
The music echoes through the fog
Each Sidhe picks up the song
The grey horses lift their ears
Answer the call, then begins to run across the bog
They ride in the wild hunt
Strange wild and free
The mist roils as they fly
Everyone douth flee
They ride through the forest dark
The ground is hard
They kill on a lark
Full of the battle lust
A fire burns inside their hearts
Driving others to pain
They destroy, they hurt
For nothing to gain
When the moon is full
On a starless night
A lone Sidhe puts his lips to the horn
And he begins to blow
By Elizabeth Ch♦amberlain
The Stolen Child
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 chetries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's morefull of weeping than you
can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey 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 is 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 morefully of weeping than you
can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,.
In pools among the rushes
That scarce 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 to waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world's morefully 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 be comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping than you.
William Butler Yeats
The Three Beggers
'Twas autumn daybreak gold and wild
While past St. Ann's grey tower they shuffled
Three beggars spied a fairy-child
In crimson mantle muffled.
The daybreak lighted up her face
All pink, and sharp, and ♦emerald-eyed;
She looked on them a little space,
And shrill as hautboy cried:--
'Oh three tall footsore men in rags
Which walking this gold morn I see,
What will ye give me from your bags
For fairy kisses three?'
The first, that was a reddish man,
Out of his bundle takes a crust:
'La, by the tombstones of St. Ann
There's fee, if fee ye must!'
The second, that was a chestnut man,
Out of his bundle draws a bone:
'La, by the bellfry of St. Ann,
And all my breakfast gone!'
The third, that was a yellow man,
Out of his bundle picks a groat,
'La by the Angle of St. Ann,
And I must go without.'
That changeling, lean and icy-lipped,
Touched crust, and bone, and groat, and lo!
Beneath her finger taper-tipped
The magic all ran through.
Instead of a crust a peacock pie,
Instead of bone sweet venison,
Instead of a groat a white lily
With seven blooms thereon.
And each fair cup was deep with wine:
Such was the changeling's charity
The sweet feast was enough for nine,
But not too much for three.
O toothsome meat in jelly froze!
O tender haunch of elfin stag!
Oh, rich the odour that arose!
Oh, plump with scraps each bag!
There, in the daybreak gold and wild,
Each merry-hearted beggar man
Drank deep unto the fairy child,
And blessed the good St. Ann.
By Walter de la Mare
The Wind on the Hills
Go not to the hills of Erin
When the night winds are about;
Put up your bar and shutter
And so keep the danger out.
For the good-folk whirl within it,
And they pullyou by the hand,
And they push you on the shoulder,
Till you move to their command.
And lo! you have forgotten
What you have known of tears,
And you will not remember
That the world goes full of years:
A year there is a lifetime
And a second but a day;
And an older world will meet you
Each morn you come away.
Your wife grows old with weeping,
And your children one by one
Grow gray with nights of watching,
Before your dance is done.
And it will chance some morning
You will come home no more;
Your wife sees but a withered leaf
In the wind about the door.
And your children will inherit
The unrest of the wind;
They shall seek some face elusive,
And some land they never find.
When the wind is loud, they sighing
Go with hearts unsatisfied,
For some joy beyond remembrance,
For some memory denied.
And all your children's children,
They cannot sleep or rest,
When the wind is out in Erin
And the sun is in the West.
By Dora Sigerson
Travels at NightThe luxury of night
falls
over me in waves
purple and orange shadows
turn to gray to deepest black
with tiny doors of sparkling white
enticing me from my window view
inviting me out to the evening dance
with the white magic light of the Moon
softly playing the music of my secret soul
standing witness over my folly
and if I drive the miles out far enough
climbing over the north side of the mountains
escaping the artificial glare of the city
hardly a trace of blackness will remain
in the vast and infinte riddle
of mysteriously enchanted desert sky
I can lie in the sand and ponder over
all the glorious shining visions above
the presence of my protective angels
then will be made known to my heart
as they gather around me in a circle
their intricate wings sheltering me
in a purely magical blanket of love
group therapy meeting in forever-land
no adult supervision
self imposed prison
in the playtime of our dreams
I will confidently close my eyes
listening to the haunting call
of the magnificently misunderstood
rebel coyotes howling out a sorrowful lullaby
as I
slowly drift away
on a dry bed
down a rocky wash
with whispers of ancient waterways
echoing in my thirsty bones
the spirits of my Ancestors
riding proudly on either side
their painted ponies glowing
in the mist of vision,
chanting, peacefully,hyptnotically
sending me off to sleep, blanketed
in the comfort of their Native knowing
my body one fine day will join them
the dust of life combined in whole
and my last conscience thought
is one
of absolute
peace
and tranquility
as I begin my travels visiting
blessed
and never understanding
why
transported
on the wings of love.
By ©Suzanne "Lily" Isham, May 5, 2004
http://lilyofthevalleyart.com/
Where?
Where are the fairies?
Where can we find them?
We've seen the fairy-rings
they leave behind them!
When they have danced all night,
Where do they go?
Lark, in the sky above,
Say, do you know?
Is it a secret no one is telling?
Why, in your garden
Surely they're dwelling!
No need for journeying, Seeking afar:
Where there are flowers, the fairies are!
Author Unknown
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