Oh! Where do the fairies hide their heads,
When snow lies on the hills,
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,
And crystallized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip,
Till green leaves come again.
Perhaps, in small blue diving - bells
They plunge beneath the waves,
Inhabiting the wreathed shells
That lie in coral caves,
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius
Carousals they maintain;
And cheer their little spirits thus,
Till green leaves come again.
When they return, there will be mirth
And music in the air,
And fairy wings upon the earth,
And mischief everywhere.
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
Will bar the doors in vain;
No key hole will be fairy-proof'
When green leaves come again.
- Thomas Hanes Bayly
[ Next Page | Skip It | Next 5 | Prev | Random ]
Want to join the ring? Get the info.
