The following are some of my favourite poems. Some are powerful, some moving and spiritual, and some are related to the fey and celtic. So pull up a comfy chair, (or toadstool, if you're of the fae-ish type), read on, and enjoy.

Ophelia by J.W. Waterhouse

The Song of the Leanan Sidhe

By BrennaGwyn of the Children of Twilight

I am a creature of the Fey,
Prepare to give your soul away.
My spell is passion, and it is art,
My song can bind a human heart
And if you chance to know my face,
my hold shall be your last embrace

I shall be thy lover

I am unlike a mortal lass,
From dreams of longing I have passed,
I came upon your lonely cries,
Revealed beauty to your eyes,
So shun the world that you have known,
And spend your nights within my own,

I shall be thy lover

You shall be known by other men,
For your great works of voice and pen,
Yet inspiration has its cost,
For with me know your soul is lost,
I'll take your passion and your skill,
I'll take your young life quicker still,

I shall be thy lover

Through the kisses that I give,
I draw from you that I will live,
And though you think this weakness grand,
The touch of death, your lover's hand,
Your will to live has come too late,
Come to my arms, and love this fate!

I shall be thy lover

I am a creature of the Fey,
Prepare to give your soul away,
My spell is passion and it is art,
My song can bind a human heart,
And if you chance to know my face,
My hold shall be your last embrace.

I shall be thy lover

The Stolen Child

By W.B. 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 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
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 the 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 he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping
than he can understand

  Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
  Little breezes dusk and shiver
  Thro' the wave that runs for ever
  By the island in the river
      Flowing down to Camelot.
  Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
  Overlook a space of flowers,
  And the silent isle imbowers
      The Lady of Shalott.

  By the margin, willow veil'd,
  Slide the heavy barges trail'd
  By slow horses; and unhail'd
  The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
      Skimming down to Camelot:
  But who hath seen her wave her hand?
  Or at the casement seen her stand?
  Or is she known in all the land,
      The Lady of Shalott?

  Only reapers, reaping early
  In among the bearded barley,
  Hear a song that echoes cheerly
  From the river winding clearly,
    Down to tower'd Camelot:
  And by the moon the reaper weary,
  Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
  Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy
      Lady of Shalott."

  There she weaves by night and day
  A magic web with colours gay.
  She has heard a whisper say,
  A curse is on her if she stay
      To look down to Camelot.
  She knows not what the curse may be,
  And so she weaveth steadily,
  And little other care hath she,
      The Lady of Shalott.

  And moving thro' a mirror clear
  That hangs before her all the year,
  Shadows of the world appear.
  There she sees the highway near
      Winding down to Camelot:
  There the river eddy whirls,
  And there the surly village-churls,
  And the red cloaks of market girls,
      Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
  An abbot on an ambling pad,
  Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
  Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
      Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
    And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
  The knights come riding two and two:
  She hath no loyal knight and true,
      The Lady of Shalott.

  But in her web she still delights
  To weave the mirror's magic sights,
  For often thro' the silent nights
  A funeral, with plumes and lights
      And music, went to Camelot:
  Or when the moon was overhead,
  Came two young lovers lately wed:
  "I am half sick of shadows," said
      The Lady of Shalott.

  A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
  He rode between the barley-sheaves,
  The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
  And flamed upon the brazen greaves
      Of bold Sir Lancelot.
  A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
  To a lady in his shield,
  That sparkled on the yellow field,
      Beside remote Shalott.

  The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
  Like to some branch of stars we see
  Hung in the golden Galaxy.
  The bridle bells rang merrily
      As he rode down to Camelot:
  And from his blazon'd baldric slung
  A mighty silver bugle hung,
  And as he rode his armour rung,
      Beside remote Shalott.

  All in the blue unclouded weather
  Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
  The helmet and the helmet-feather
  Burn'd like one burning flame together,
      As he rode down to Camelot.
  As often thro' the purple night,
  Below the starry clusters bright,
  Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
      Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
    As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
    Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
    She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
    The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
    Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
    The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
    Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
    The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
    She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
    The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
    Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
    The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
    Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
    The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
    All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
    The Lady of Shalott."

"Oh then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you....
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone,
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web,
Her collars, of the moonshine's watery beams...
Her whip, of cricket's bone, the lash, of film,
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid,
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by a joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops, night by night,
Through lover's brains, and then they
dream of love."

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene IV

Elves

By the fern brake, deep and shady, there I met an elfin lady. Dressed in cobweb silk and flowers, there she willed away the hours. Waiting until dark....

On the soft green moss beside her, lay a baby wrapped in eider. Skin so fair and hair like midnight, the lady watched the coming twighlight. Waiting till 'twas dark...

Silently, I sat beside her, hoping for some words to gather. In my numb and startled mind, said the lady, "You're most kind to wait with me till dark."

"Are you lost?" I asked lady. "Is this your home, this fern brake shady? Will others come by star and Moon?" She only smiled, began to croon to the elfin child.

The baby slept. The lady told me deep magic of the Earth and Sea. Spell she whispered, strong and old. "Use them well," she said. "Be bold when spelling in the night."

"Can I work these?" The lady smiled, gathered up her sleeping child. "Oh yes," she anwered, " 'Tis a boon for waiting with me till the Moon slips up the sky."

Thinking deep, I sat beside her, keeping watch. I heard the rider coming through the fern brake shady. "Are you there, my lovely lady?" Called an elfin voice.

An elfin lord, his clothes all viney, armed with sword and dagger shiny, rode his horse into the fern brake. Then my heart began to quake on seeing his dark eyes.

hill. Suddenly I felt alone. "Have no fear, for you have sown good friendship."

The lady smiled and raised her hand. Upon her brow a shining band glistened by the light of the Moon. "Would you too give forth a boon?" She asked her lord.

"For here is a friend, a watcher bold." "But they are enemies of old," the elf lord answered. "No," she said, "but guarded us in this fern bed." He smiled.

"So there are some who wish us well." His voice was like a distant bell. A ring he took from off his hand. "This will tune you to the land and magic."

Its stone was pale, just like the Moon. The air was filled with eldritch tune, as they mounted, lord and lady, rode off through the fern brake shady. I stood alone.

People say elves are not there. But I have heard their voices fair, when I sit down in the brake. Magic spells I've learned to make all from the lady.

Elf lord's ring is on my hand to help with magic from the land. Sometimes I talk with lord and lady in the fern brake deep and shady. Secretly....

Is there magic? For me 'tis so. For when the sun is sinking low, I feel Earth's power within my heart and know that I shall never part....from the lord and lady.

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heavan