THE REALM OF THEFAIRY MIST
WELL 2nd PAGE, NOT BAD FOR A BEGINNER...LOLI'VE WAITED SO LONG TO DO THISAND NOW IT HAS FINALLY HAPPENED.I'M NOT MUCH FOR WORDSBUT, I HOPE THE POETRY THAT I HAVE COLLECTEDWILL BRING YOU ENJOYMENT...~SMILES~
SPINDLEWOOD, SPINDLEWOOD, WILL YOU LEND ME PRAYA LITTLE FLAMING LATERN TO GUIDE MEON MY WAY?THE FAIRIES HAVE ALL VANISHED FROM THE MEADOWAND THE GLEN,AND I WOULD FAIN GO SEEKINGTILL I FIND THEM ONCE AGAINLEND ME NOW A LATERNTHAT I MAY BARE A LIGHT,TO FIND THE HIDDEN PATHWAYSIN THE DARKNESS OF THE LIGHT.ASHTREE, ASHTREE THROW ME,IF YOU PLEASE,THROW ME A SLENDER BUNCHOF RUSSET-GOLD KEYS,I FEAR THE GATES OF FAIRYLAND ALL BE SHUT SO FASTTHAT NOTHING BUT YOUR MAGICKEYS WILL EVER TAKE ME PAST.I'LL TIE THEM TO MY GIRLD AND AS I GO ALONG,MY HEART WILL FIND A COMFORTIN THE TWINKLE OF THEIR SONG.HOLLYBUSH, HOLLYBUSH, HELP ME IN MY TASK,A POCKETFULL OF BERRIES IS ALL THE ALMS I ASK,A POCKETFULL OF BERRIESTO THREAD ON GOLDEN STRANDS.(I WOULD NOT GO A VISITINGWITH NOTHING IN MY HANDS).SO FINE WILL BE THE ROSY CHAINS,SO GAY, SO GLOSSY BRIGHT,THEY'LL SET THE REALMS OFFAIRYLAND ALL DANCING WITH DELIGHT.
FROM THE LOW WHITE WALLSAND THE CHURCHES STEEPLES,FROM OUR LITTLE FIELDS UNDER GRASS OR GRAIN,I'M GONE AWAY TO THE FAIRY PEOPLEI SHALL NOT COME TO THE TOWN AGAINYOU MAY SEE A GIRL WITH MY FACE AND DRESSES,YOU MAY SEE ONE COME TO MY MOTHER'S DOORWHO MAY SPEAK MY WORDS AND 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 SNIP ARE HOMING,OR WHEN NO MOON LIGHTS NOR A SINGLE STAR.ON STORMY NIGHTS WHEN THE STREAMS ARE FOAMINGAND 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 VERSESTO CALL ME BACK, FOR I AM THIS DAYFROM BLESSINGS FAR, AND BEYOND CURSES.NO HAVEN SHINES WHERE WE RIDE AWAY.AT SPEED UNTHOUGHT OF IN ALL YOUR STABLES,WITH THE GODS OLD AND THE SONS OF FINN,WITH THE QUEENS THAT RESIGNED IN THE OLDEN FABLESAND KINGS THAT WON WHAT A SWORDS CAN WIN.YOU MAY HEAR US STREAMING ABOVE YOUR GABLESON NIGHTS AS STILL AS A PLANET'S SPIN;BUT NEVER STIR FROM YOUR CHAIRS AND TABLESTO CALL MY NAME. I SHALL NOT COME IN.FOR I AM GONE TO THE FAIRY PEOPLE.MAKE THE MOST OF THAT OTHER CHILDWHO PRAYS WITH YOU BY THE VILLAGE STEEPLEI AM GONE 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 FACESNO MORE IN HEAVEN OR EARTH OR HELL.
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.
High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleaseure here and there. Is any man so daring As to dig one up in spite, He shall find the thornies set In his bed at night.
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