THERE ARE FAERIES

There are faeries, bright of eye,

Who the wildflowers’ warders are:

Ouphes, that chase the firefly;

Elves, that ride the shooting-star:

Fays, who in a cobweb lie,

Swinging on a moonbeam bar;

Or who harness bumblebees,

Grumbling on the clover leas,

To a blossom or a breeze —

That's their faery car.

If you care, you too may see

There are faeries.— Verily,

There are faeries.

There are faeries. I could swear

I have seen them busy, where

Roses loose their scented hair,

In the moonlight weaving, weaving,

Out of starlight and the dew,

Glinting gown and shimmering shoe;

Or, within a glowworm lair,

From the dark earth slowly heaving

Mushrooms whiter than the moon,

On whose tops they sit and croon,

With their grig-like mandolins,

To fair faery ladykins,

Leaning from the windowsill

Of a rose or daffodil,

Listening to their serenade

All of cricket-music made.

Follow me, oh, follow me!

Ho! away to Faërie!

Where your eyes like mine may see

There are faeries.— Verily,

There are faeries.

There are faeries. Elves that swing

In a wild and rainbow ring

Through the air; or mount the wing

Of a bat to courier news

To the faery King and Queen:

Fays, who stretch the gossamers

On which twilight hangs the dews;

Who, within the moonlight sheen,

Whisper dimly in the ears

Of the flowers words so sweet

That their hearts are turned to musk

And to honey; things that beat

In their veins of gold and blue:

Ouphes, that shepherd moths of dusk —

Soft of wing and gray of hue —

Forth to pasture on the dew.

There are faeries; verily;

Verily:

For the old owl in the tree,

Hollow tree,

He who maketh melody

For them tripping merrily,

Told it me.

There are faeries.— Verily,

There are faeries.