Faerie Meadow ~ Poetry

The Faerie Meadow

Every time a child says, "I don't believe in fairies",
there is a little fairy somewhere that falls down dead.
~Sir James Matthews Barrie~
(1860-1937)

Faery Song

We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:

Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:

Gie to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:

Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.

~William Butler Yeats~

The Hosting Of The Sidhe

The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caoile tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
And where is hope or deed as fair?
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away.

~William Butler Yeats~

The Song Of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

~William Butler Yeats~
(1865-1939)

A Lover's Quarrel Among The Fairies

Male Faeries:
Do not fear us, earthly maid!
we will lead you hand in hand
by the willows in the glade
by the gorse on the high land
by the pasture where the lambs
shall wake with lonely bleat
shivering closer to their dams
from the rustling of our feet.
You will with the banshee chat
and will find her good at heart
sitting on a warm smooth mat
in the hills inmost part.
We will bring a crown of gold
bending humbly every knee
Now thy great white doll to hold -
oh so happy we would be!
Ah it is so very big
and we are so very small!
So we dance a faery jig
to the fiddle's rise and fall.
Yonder see the faery girls
all their jealousy display
lift their chins and toss their curls
list their chins and turn away.
See you, brother, cranberry fruit -
he! ho! ho! the merry blade!
hugs and pets and pats yond newt
teasing every willful maid.

Girl Faeries:
Lead they one with foolish care
deafening us with idle sound -
one whose breathing shakes the air
one whose footfall shakes the ground.
Come you, coltsfoot, mousetail, come!
Come I know where, far away
owls there be whom age makes numb;
come and tease them till the day.
Puffed like puff-balls on a tree
scoff they at the modern earth -
ah! how large mice used to be
in their days of youthful mirth!
Come, beside a sandy lake
feed a fire with stems of grass;
roasting berries steam and shake -
talking hours swiftly pass!
Long before the morning fire
wake the larks upon the green.
Yonder foolish ones will tire
of their tall, new-fangles queen.
They will lead her home again
to the orchard-circles farm;
at the house of weary men
raise the door-pin with alarm
and come kneeling on one knee
while we shake our heads and scold
this their wanton treachery
and our slaves be as of old.

~William Butler Yeats~

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 the 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 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 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 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 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,
From a world more full of weeping
than he can understand.

~William Butler Yeats~

The Fairy Pendant

Scene: A circle of Druidic stones

First Fairy:
Afar from our lawn and our levee,
O sister of sorrowful gaze!
Where the roses in scarlet are heavy
And dream of the end of their days,
You move in another dominion
And hang o'er the historied stone:
Unpruned in your beautiful pinion
Who wander and whisper alone.

All: Come away while the moon's in the woodland,
We'll dance and then feast in a dairy.
Though youngest of all in our good band,
You are wasting away, little fairy.

Second Fairy:
Ah! cruel ones, leave me alone now
While I murmur a little and ponder
The history here in the stone now;
Then away and away I will wander,
And measure the minds of the flowers,
And gaze on the meadow-mice wary,
And number their days and their hours--

All: You're wasting away, little fairy.

Second Fairy:
O shining ones, lightly with song pass,
Ah! leave me, I pray you and beg.
My mother drew forth from the long grass
A piece of a nightingle's egg,
And cradled me here where are sung,
Of birds even, longings for aery
Wild wisdoms of spirit and tongue.

All: You're wasting away, little fairy.

First Fairy [turning away]:
Though the tenderest roses were round you,
The soul of this pitiless place
With pitiless magic has bound you--
Ah! woe for the loss of your face,
And the loss of your laugh with its lightness--
Ah! woe for your wings and your head--
Ah! woe for your eyes and their brightness--
Ah! woe for your slippers of red.

All: Come away while the moon's in the woodland.

We'll dance and then feast in a dairy.
Though youngest of all in our good band,
She's wasting away, little fairy.

~William Butler Yeats~