- Where the Faries Play -

by Robert Louis Stevenson

When at home alone I sit and I am very tired of it,
I just have to shut my eyes to go sailing through the skies--
To go sailing far away to the pleasant land of play;
To the fairy land afar where the little people are;
Where the clover-tops are trees, and the rain-pools are the seas,
And the leaves, like little ships, sail about on tiny trips;
And above the daisy tree through the grasses,
High o'erhead the bumble bee hums and passes.
In that forest to and fro I can wander, I can go;
See the spider and the fly, and the ants go marching by,
Carrying parcels with their feet down the green and grassy street.
Through the forest I can pass till, as in a looking glass,
Humming fly and daisy tree and my tiny self I see,
Painted very clear and neat on the rain-pool at my feet.
Should a leaflet come to land drifting near to where I stand,
Straight I'll board that tiny boat round the rain-pool sea to float.
Little thoughtful creatures sit on the grassy coasts of it;
Little things with lovely eyes see me sailing with surprise.
Some are clad in armour green--(these have sure to battle been!)
Some are pied with ev'ry hue, black and crimson, gold and blue;
Some have wings and swift are gone; but they all look kindly on.
That I could be a sailor on a rain-pool sea, a climber in the clover tree,
And just come back a sleepy-head, late at night to go to bed.