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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59726 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  BY THE SAME AUTHOR
+
+  Fairies and Chimneys
+  The Fairy Flute
+  The Rainbow Cat, and Other Stories
+
+
+
+
+  THE FAIRY GREEN
+
+
+  BY
+
+  ROSE FYLEMAN
+
+  AUTHOR OF "FAIRIES AND CHIMNEYS"
+
+
+
+  SEVENTH EDITION
+
+
+
+  METHUEN & CO. LTD.
+  36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
+  LONDON
+
+
+
+
+  First Published ... October 23rd 1919
+  Second Edition ... December 1919
+  Third Edition ... November 1920
+  Fourth Edition ... May 1921
+  Fifth (School) Edition ... October 1921
+  Sixth Edition ... December 1921
+  Seventh Edition ... October 1922
+
+
+
+
+  TO ALL TEACHERS OF LITTLE CHILDREN
+  IN GENERAL AND ONE IN PARTICULAR
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+
+  FAIRIES
+
+  Vision
+  Please
+  The Daphne Bush
+  Alms in Autumn
+  Fairy Music
+  The Hayfield
+  This Island
+  Smith Square, Westminster
+  The Enchanted Princess
+  The Goblin to the Fairy Queen
+  The Fairy Queen to the Goblin
+  Fairies in Autumn
+  Trees and Fairies
+  Fairies in the Malverns
+  The Fairies send Messengers
+  Dunsley Glen
+
+
+  BIRD-LORE
+
+  Peacocks
+  The Cuckoo
+  The Rooks
+  The Robin
+  The Cock
+  The Grouse
+
+
+  A LITTLE GIRL
+
+  Before
+  Singing-Time
+  There are no Wolves in England now
+  Mrs. Brown
+  The Spring
+  Cousin Gwen
+  The Butcher
+  The Pillar-Box
+  The Dentist
+  Joys
+  My Policeman
+  The Porridge Plate
+  The Fairy Green
+  The Visit
+
+
+  ENVOI
+
+  To the Fairies
+
+
+
+
+  THE FAIRY GREEN
+
+
+  FAIRIES
+
+  VISION
+
+  I've seen her, I've seen her
+    Beneath an apple-tree;
+  The minute that I saw her there
+  With stars and dewdrops in her hair
+    I knew it must be she.
+  She's sitting on a dragon-fly
+    All shining green and gold;
+  The dragon-fly goes circling round
+  A little way above the ground--
+    She isn't taking hold.
+
+  I've seen her, I've seen her,
+    I never, never knew
+  That anything could be so sweet;
+  She has the tiniest hands and feet,
+    Her wings are very blue.
+  She holds her little head like _this_
+    Because she is a queen;
+  (I can't describe it all in words)
+  She's throwing kisses to the birds
+    And laughing in between.
+
+  I've seen her, I've seen her--
+    I simply ran and ran;
+  Put down your sewing quickly, please,
+  Let's hurry to the orchard trees
+    As softly as we can.
+  I had to go and leave her there,
+    I felt I couldn't stay,
+  I wanted you to see her too--
+  But oh, whatever shall we do
+    If she has flown away?
+
+
+
+
+  PLEASE
+
+  Please be careful where you tread,
+    The fairies are about;
+  Last night, when I had gone to bed,
+    I heard them creeping out.
+  And wouldn't it be a dreadful thing
+    To do a fairy harm?
+  To crush a little delicate wing
+    Or bruise a tiny arm?
+  They're all about the place, I know,
+  So do be careful where you go.
+
+  Please be careful what you say,
+    They're often very near,
+  And though they turn their heads away
+    They cannot help but hear.
+  And think how terribly you would mind
+    If, even for a joke,
+  You said a thing that seemed unkind
+    To the dear little fairy folk.
+  I'm sure they're simply everywhere,
+  So _promise_ me that you'll take care.
+
+
+
+
+  THE DAPHNE BUSH
+
+  All about the daphne bush the happy fairies went,
+  And spread abroad their silken hair to catch its magic scent;
+  They chanted little silver tunes, they danced the whole day long;
+  The rosy bush was ringed around with chains  of coloured song.
+
+  They danced, they sang, they flung about their tiny fairy names,
+  Till swiftly over all the sky there ran the sunset flames;
+  Then high into the glowing air they leapt with joyful shout,
+  And with the ruddy shreds of mist they wrapped themselves about.
+
+  Into my quiet garden close they swiftly dropped again
+  (The music of their merriment tinkled like falling rain);
+  Laughing they swayed, while from their hair they shook the
+        warm perfume,
+  Till all the place seemed filled with clouds of drifting
+        daphne bloom.
+
+
+
+
+  ALMS IN AUTUMN
+
+  Spindle-wood, spindle-wood, will you lend me, pray,
+  A little flaming lantern to guide me on my way?
+  The fairies all have vanished from the meadow and the glen
+  And I would fain go seeking till I find them once again.
+  Lend me now a lantern that I may bear a light
+  To find the hidden pathway in the darkness of the night.
+
+  Ash-tree, ash-tree, throw me, if you please,
+  Throw me down a slender bunch of russet-gold keys.
+  I fear the gates of Fairyland may all be shut so fast
+  That nothing but your magic keys will ever take me past.
+  I'll tie them to my girdle, and as I go along
+  My heart will find a comfort in the tinkle of their song.
+
+  Holly-bush, holly-bush, help me in my task,
+  A pocketful of berries is all the alms I ask:
+  A pocketful of berries to thread in glowing strands
+  (I would not go a-visiting with nothing in my hands)
+  So fine will be the rosy chains, so gay, so glossy bright
+  They'll set the realms of Fairyland all dancing with delight.
+
+
+
+
+  FAIRY MUSIC
+
+  When the fiddlers play their tunes you may sometimes hear,
+  Very softly chiming in, magically clear,
+  Magically high and sweet, the tiny crystal notes
+  Of fairy voices bubbling free from tiny fairy throats.
+
+  When the birds at break of day chant their morning prayers,
+  Or on sunny afternoons pipe ecstatic airs,
+  Comes an added rush of sound to the silver din--
+  Songs of fairy troubadours gaily joining in.
+
+  When athwart the drowsy fields summer twilight falls,
+  Through the tranquil air there float elfin madrigals
+  And in wild November nights, on the winds astride,
+  Fairy hosts go rushing by, singing as they ride.
+
+  Every dream that mortals dream, sleeping or awake,
+  Every lovely fragile hope--these the fairies take,
+  Delicately fashion them and give them back again
+  In tender, limpid melodies that charm the hearts of men.
+
+
+
+
+  THE HAYFIELD
+
+  Over the field the fairies went
+  Singing and dancing and well content;
+  Over the field of sweet warm grass
+  I saw their shimmering cohorts pass.
+
+  The clover flamed to a ruddier glow,
+  The slender buttercups curtseyed low,
+  The wondering daisies, innocent-eyed,
+  Bowed their heads to the radiant tide.
+
+  And flirting butterflies, pearly white,
+  Left the flowers for a new delight,
+  Left their loves for the fairies' sake,
+  And fluttered dizzily in their wake.
+
+  Over the swaying grass they swept,
+  Over the hedgerow soared and leapt,
+  Broke and scattered in golden spray,
+  Gleamed and glittered--and melted away.
+
+
+
+
+  THE ISLAND
+
+  I know an island in a lake,
+  Green upon waters grey;
+  It has a strange enchanted air;
+  I hear the fairies singing there
+  When I go by that way.
+
+  They guard their hidden dwelling-place
+  With bands of stalwart reeds,
+  But sometimes, by a happy chance,
+  I see them all come out and dance
+  Upon the water-weeds.
+
+  One night, one summer night, I know
+  Suddenly I shall wake,
+  And very softly hasten down
+  And out beyond the sleeping town
+  To find my fairy lake.
+
+  I shall not need to seek a boat,
+  It will be moored, I think,
+  Within a tiny pebbled bay
+  Where meadow-sweet and mallow sway
+  Close to the water's brink.
+
+  The moon from shore to shadowy shore
+  Will make a shining trail,
+  And I shall sing their fairy song
+  As joyfully I float along--
+  I shall not need a sail.
+
+  And peering through a starlit haze
+  I presently shall see,
+  Where swift the waiting reeds unclose,
+  The fairies all in rows and rows
+  Waiting to welcome me.
+
+
+
+
+  SMITH SQUARE, WESTMINSTER
+
+  In Smith Square, Westminster, the houses stand so prim,
+  With slender railings at their feet and windows straight and slim;
+  And all day long they staidly stare with gentle placid gaze,
+  And dream of joyous happenings in splendid bygone days.
+
+  In Smith Square, Westminster, you must not make a noise,
+  No shrill-voiced vendors harbour there, no shouting errand-boys;
+  But very busy gentlemen step swiftly out and in
+  With little leather cases and umbrellas neatly thin.
+
+  Yet sometimes when the summer night her starry curtain spreads,
+  And all the busy gentlemen are sleeping in their beds,
+  You hear a gentle humming like the humming of a hive,
+  And Smith Square, Westminster, begins to come alive.
+
+  For all the houses start to sing, honey-sweet and low,
+  The tender little lovely songs of long and long ago,
+  And all the fairies round about come hastening up in crowds,
+  Until the quiet air is filled with rainbow-coloured clouds.
+
+  On roof and rail and chimney-pot they delicately perch,
+  They hang like jewelled fringes on the ledges of the church;
+  They dance about the roadway upon nimble, noiseless feet,
+  While the houses keep on chanting with a soft enticing beat.
+
+  And still they weave their sparkling webs and still they
+      leap and whirl
+  Until the far horizon's edge is faintly rimmed with pearl,
+  And the morning breeze blows out the stars discreetly, one by one,
+  And the sentries on the Abbey signal down--"The Sun--the Sun!"
+
+  And long before the butlers stumble drowsily downstairs,
+  And long before their masters have begun to say their prayers,
+  The fairies all have pranced away upon the morning beams,
+  And Smith Square, Westminster, is wrapped once more in dreams.
+
+
+
+
+  THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS
+
+  She wanders in the forest with wide and solemn eyes;
+  A little shade of wilderment across her forehead lies.
+
+  No timid woodland creature her footfall need affright,
+  The shadow of her floating hair is not more soft and light.
+
+  She hears the gentle cadence of bird and wind and stream,
+  They make a little song for her, like singing in a dream.
+
+  Across the distant valley the pleasant sunbeams fall;
+  The children in the cowslip field merrily laugh and call.
+
+  She does not hear their laughter, she does not feel the sun,
+  She cannot leave the shadowed wood until the spell is done.
+
+
+
+
+  THE GOBLIN TO THE FAIRY QUEEN
+
+  What do you lack, queen, queen,
+    That is precious and fine and rare?
+  A jewelled snood that shall lie between
+    The delicate waves of your hair?
+  I will ride through the sky on the evening wind
+    With a golden needle and thread,
+  And string up the tiniest stars I can find,
+    To glitter about your head.
+
+  What can I do, queen, queen,
+    To hasten the hours along
+  When you grow weary of woodland green,
+    Weary of woodland song?
+  A cage of gossamer gold I will tie
+    On to a skylark's wing,
+  And there you shall hang in the midst of the sky
+    And tremble to hear him sing.
+
+  Grant me a boon, queen, queen;
+    This is the boon that I ask--
+  Let me do service, mighty or mean,
+    Give me a task, a task.
+  Are there no jackanapes giants to slay?
+    Are there no dragons to fight?
+  Nothing shall daunt me by dark or by day;
+    Make me your goblin knight!
+
+
+
+
+  THE FAIRY QUEEN TO THE GOBLIN
+
+  Last night I heard a singing--a singing in my dreams,
+  It wandered through my land of sleep like little silver streams;
+  Like little purling silver streams that gently laugh and coo--
+  Goblin with the shining eyes, goblin, was it you?
+
+  Softer than the tender croon of my happy doves,
+  Sweeter than my nightingales pouring forth their loves,
+  Clearer than my valiant lark triumphant in the blue;
+  Goblin with the whimsic smile, goblin, was it you?
+
+  All night long the singer stayed close beside my bower,
+  Weaving his enchanted songs, till that magic hour
+  When the early morning light creeps across the dew;
+  Goblin with the steadfast heart, goblin, was it you?
+
+
+
+
+  FAIRIES IN AUTUMN
+
+  You perch upon the leaves where the trees are very high,
+  And you all shout together as the wind goes by;
+  The merry mad wind sets the leaves all afloat,
+  And off you go a-sailing in an airy wee boat.
+
+  You fly to the edges of a grim grey cloud,
+  And you all start a-dancing and a-singing very loud;
+  The cloud melts away in a shower of peevish rain
+  And you slide down from heaven on a slim silver chain.
+
+
+
+
+  TREES AND FAIRIES
+
+  The larch-tree gives them needles
+    To stitch their gossamer things;
+  Carefully, cunningly toils the oak
+  To shape the cups of the fairy folk;
+    The sycamore gives them wings.
+
+  The lordly fir-tree rocks them
+    High on his swinging sails;
+  The hawthorn fashions their tiny spears;
+  The whispering alder charms their ears
+    With soft, mysterious tales.
+
+  The chestnut gives them candles
+    To make their ballroom fine;
+  And the elder-bush and the hazel tree
+  Assist their delicate revelry
+    With nuts and fragrant wine.
+
+
+
+
+  FAIRIES IN THE MALVERNS
+
+  As I walked over Hollybush Hill
+  The sun was low and the winds were still,
+  And never a whispering branch I heard
+  Nor ever the tiniest call of a bird.
+
+  And when I came to the topmost height
+  Oh, but I saw such a wonderful sight:
+  All about on the hill-crest there
+  The fairies danced in the golden air.
+
+  Danced and frolicked with never a sound
+  In and out in a magical round;
+  Wide and wider the circle grew
+  Then suddenly melted into the blue.
+
+  * * * * * * *
+
+  As I walked down into Eastnor Vale
+  The stars already were twinkling pale,
+  And over the spaces of dew-white grass
+  I saw a marvellous pageant pass.
+
+  Tiny riders on tiny steeds,
+  Decked with blossoms and armed with reeds,
+  With gossamer banners floating far
+  And a radiant queen in an ivory car.
+
+  The beeches spread their petticoats wide
+  And curtseyed low upon either side;
+  The rabbits scurried across the glade
+  To peep at the glittering cavalcade.
+
+  Far and farther I saw them go
+  And vanish into the woods below;
+  Then over the shadowy woodland ways
+  I wandered home in a sweet amaze.
+
+  * * * * * * *
+
+  But Malvern people need fear no ill
+  Since fairies bide in their country still.
+
+
+
+
+  THE FAIRIES SEND MESSENGERS
+
+  They sent a stout little red-breast bird;
+  He sang from the garden wall;
+  Surely, oh, surely the children heard,
+  But never they came to his call.
+
+  They sent a capering, glad young breeze;
+  He shouted, he rattled about;
+  But the children sat with their books on their knees
+  And gave no heed to his shout.
+
+  They sent a bee in a velvet coat,
+  Busily, busily gay;
+  He hummed his tale on a spirited note
+  But the children chased him away.
+
+  They sent a brave little fairy sprite;
+  She peeped round the window frame;
+  The children looked, and their eyes grew bright,
+  And they came!
+
+
+
+
+  DUNSLEY GLEN
+
+  There is no road to Dunsley Glen,
+  I should not know the way again
+  Because the fairies took me there,
+  Down by a little rocky stair--
+  A little stair all twists and turns,
+  Half hidden by the spreading ferns.
+
+  High overhead the trees were green,
+  With little bits of blue between,
+  So high that they could see, I'm sure,
+  Beyond the wood, beyond the moor,
+  The water many miles away
+  Mistily shining in the bay.
+
+  Deep in the glen a streamlet cool
+  Ran down into a magic pool,
+  With mossy caverns all about
+  Where fairies fluttered in and out;
+  Their sparkling wings and golden hair
+  Made dancing twinkles here and there.
+
+  I stood and watched them at their play
+  Until I dared no longer stay;
+  I knew that I might seek and seek
+  On every day of every week
+  Ere I should find the place again--
+  There is no road to Dunsley Glen.
+
+
+
+
+  BIRD-LORE
+
+  PEACOCKS
+
+  Peacocks sweep the fairies' rooms;
+  They use their folded tails for brooms;
+  But fairy dust is brighter far
+  Than any mortal colours are,
+  And all about their tails it clings
+  In strange designs of rounds and rings:
+  And that is why they strut about
+  And proudly spread their feathers out.
+
+
+
+
+  THE CUCKOO
+
+  The Cuckoo is a tell-tale,
+    A mischief-making bird;
+  He flies to East, he flies to West
+  And whispers into every nest
+    The wicked things he's heard;
+  He loves to spread his naughty lies,
+  He laughs about it as he flies:
+  "Cuckoo," he cries, "cuckoo, cuckoo,
+    It's true, it's true."
+
+  And when the fairies catch him
+    His busy wings they dock,
+  They shut him up for evermore
+  (He may not go beyond the door)
+    Inside a wooden clock;
+  Inside a wooden clock he cowers
+  And has to tell the proper hours--
+  "Cuckoo," he cries, "cuckoo, cuckoo,
+    It's true, it's true."
+
+
+
+
+  THE ROOKS
+
+  High in the elm-trees sit the rooks,
+  Or flit about with busy looks
+    And solemn, ceaseless caws.
+  Small wonder they are so intent,
+  They are the fairies' Parliament--
+    They make the fairy laws.
+
+  They never seem to stop all day,
+  And you can hear from far away
+    Their busy chatter-chat.
+  They work so very hard indeed
+  You'd wonder that the fairies need
+    So many laws as that.
+
+
+
+
+  THE ROBIN
+
+  The robin is the fairies' page;
+    They keep him neatly dressed
+  For country service or for town
+  In dapper livery of brown
+    And little scarlet vest.
+
+  On busy errands all day long
+    He hurries to and fro
+  With watchful eyes and nimble wings--
+  There are not very many things
+    The robin doesn't know.
+
+  And he can tell you, if he will,
+    The latest fairy news:
+  The quaint adventures of the King,
+  And whom the Queen is visiting,
+    And where she gets her shoes.
+
+  And lately, when the fairy Court
+    Invited me to tea,
+  He stood behind the Royal Chair;
+  And here I solemnly declare,
+  When he discovered I was there.
+    That robin _winked_ at me.
+
+
+
+
+  THE COCK
+
+  The kindly cock is the fairies' friend,
+  He warns them when their revels must end;
+  He never forgets to give the word,
+  For the cock is a thoroughly punctual bird.
+
+  And since he grieves that he never can fly.
+  Like all the other birds, up in the sky,
+  The fairies put him now and again
+  High on a church for a weather-vane.
+
+  Little for sun or for rain he cares;
+  He turns about with the proudest airs
+  And chuckles with joy as the clouds go past
+  To think he is up in the sky at last.
+
+
+
+
+  THE GROUSE
+
+  The Grouse that lives on the moorland wide
+  Is filled with a most ridiculous pride;
+  He thinks that it all belongs to him,
+  And every one else must obey his whim.
+  When the queer wee folk who live on the moors
+  Come joyfully leaping out of their doors
+  To frisk about on the warm sweet heather
+  Laughing and chattering all together,
+  He looks askance at their rollicking play
+  And calls to them in the angriest way:
+  "You're a feather-brained, foolish, frivolous pack,
+  Go back, you rascally imps, go back!"
+
+  But little enough they heed his shout,
+  Over the rocks they tumble about;
+  They chase each other over the ling;
+  They kick their heels in the heather and sing:
+  "Oho, Mr. Grouse, you'd best beware,
+  Or some fine day, if you don't take care,
+  The witch who lives in the big brown bog
+  With a wise old weasel, a rat and a frog,
+  Will come a-capering over the fell
+  And put you under a horrible spell;
+  Your feathers will moult and your voice will crack--
+  Go back, you silly old bird, go back!"
+
+
+
+
+  A LITTLE GIRL
+
+  BEFORE
+
+  Before I was a little girl I was a little bird,
+  I could not laugh, I could not dance, I could not speak a word;
+  But all about the woods I went and up into the sky--
+  And isn't it a pity I've forgotten how to fly?
+
+  I often came to visit you.  I used to sit and sing
+  Upon our purple lilac-bush that smells so sweet in Spring;
+  But when you thanked me for my song of course you never knew
+  I soon should be a little girl and come to live with you.
+
+
+
+
+  SINGING-TIME
+
+  I wake in the morning early
+  And always, the very first thing,
+  I poke out my head and I sit up in bed
+  And I sing and I sing and I sing.
+
+
+
+
+  THERE ARE NO WOLVES IN ENGLAND NOW
+
+  There are no wolves in England now, nor any grizzly bears;
+  You could not meet them after dark upon the attic stairs.
+
+  When Nanna goes to fetch the tea there is no need at all
+  To leave the nursery door ajar in case you want to call.
+
+  And mother says, in fairy tales, those bits are never true
+  That tell you all the dreadful deeds that wicked fairies do.
+
+  And wouldn't it be silly for a great big girl like me
+  To be the leastest bit afraid of things that couldn't be?
+
+
+
+
+  MRS. BROWN
+
+  As soon as I'm in bed at night
+  And snugly settled down,
+  The little girl I am by day
+  Goes very suddenly away,
+  And then I'm Mrs. Brown.
+
+  I have a family of six,
+  And all of them have names,
+  The girls are Joyce and Nancy Maud,
+  The boys are Marmaduke and Claude
+  And Percival and James.
+
+  We have a house with twenty rooms
+  A mile away from town;
+  I think it's good for girls and boys
+  To be allowed to make a noise--
+  And so does Mr. Brown.
+
+  We do the most exciting things,
+  Enough to make you creep;
+  And on and on and on we go--
+  I sometimes wonder if I know
+  When I have gone to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+  THE SPRING
+
+  A little mountain spring I found
+  That fell into a pool;
+  I made my hands into a cup
+  And caught the sparkling water up--
+  It tasted fresh and cool.
+
+  A solemn little frog I spied
+  Upon the rocky brim;
+  He looked so boldly in my face,
+  I'm certain that he thought the place
+  Belonged by rights to him.
+
+
+
+
+  COUSIN GWEN
+
+  I like my cousin very much
+  Because of course one should;
+  She comes to spend the day with me
+  And stays to dinner and to tea,
+  And she is very good.
+
+  Her shining hair is smooth and neat,
+  She always wears a plait,
+  And French Translation she can do
+  And Algebra and Science too,
+  And clever things like that.
+
+  My Nanna thinks I ought to try
+  And copy Cousin Gwen;
+  But I could never be like her,
+  Indeed, indeed, I wish I were--
+  Excepting now and then.
+
+
+
+
+  THE BUTCHER
+
+  The butcher's shop is open wide
+  And everyone can see inside;
+  He stands behind the rows of meat
+  And gazes out into the street.
+
+  He always wears a coat of blue,
+  He has a linen apron too,
+  And with his knife he rather looks
+  Like ogres in the story-books.
+
+  He smiles and nods and says "Good-day"
+  If nurse and I go by that way
+  When we are shopping in the town--
+  I've never seen him sitting down.
+
+
+
+
+  THE PILLAR-BOX
+
+  The pillar-box is fat and red,
+  It's mouth is very wide,
+  It wears a Tammy on its head--
+  It must be dark inside.
+
+  And really it's the greatest fun
+  When mother lets me stop
+  And post the letters one by one--
+  I like to hear them drop.
+
+
+
+
+  THE DENTIST
+
+  I'd like to be a dentist with a plate upon the door
+  And a little bubbling fountain in the middle of the floor;
+  With lots of tiny bottles all arranged in coloured rows
+  And a page-boy with a line of silver buttons down his clothes.
+
+  I'd love to polish up the things and put them every day
+  Inside the darling chests of drawers all tidily away;
+  And every Sunday afternoon when nobody was there
+  I should go riding up and down upon the velvet chair.
+
+
+
+
+  JOYS
+
+  I'm rather fond of medicine, especially if it's pink,
+  Or else the fizzy-wizzy kind that makes you want to blink;
+  And eucalyptus lozenges are very nice I think.
+
+  I like it when I'm really ill and have to stay in bed
+  With mother's grown-up pillows all frilly round my head;
+  But measles is the funniest, because you get so red.
+
+
+
+
+  MY POLICEMAN
+
+  He is always standing there
+  At the corner of the Square;
+  He is very big and fine
+  And his silver buttons shine.
+
+  All the carts and taxis do
+  Everything he tells them to,
+  And the little errand-boys
+  When they pass him make no noise.
+
+  Though I seem so very small
+  I am not afraid at all;
+  He and I are friends, you see,
+  And he always smiles at me.
+
+  Once I wasn't very good
+  Rather near to where he stood,
+  But he never said a word
+  Though I'm sure he must have heard.
+
+  Nurse has a policeman too
+  (Hers has brown eyes, mine has blue),
+  Hers is sometimes on a horse,
+  But I like mine best of course.
+
+
+
+
+  THE PORRIDGE PLATE
+
+  My porridge plate at Grannie's house is white and misty blue,
+  And as I eat the porridge up the picture all comes through;
+  There is a castle on a lake, a tall tall lady too.
+
+  The castle has a flight of steps and lots of pointed towers,
+  A garden and a summer-house a little bit like ours,
+  And trees with leaves like feathers and the most enormous flowers.
+
+  I don't care much for porridge in an ordinary way
+  (Though it's jolly when there's treacle and your Nanna
+    lets you play),
+  But when I stop at Grannie's house I like it every day.
+
+
+
+
+  THE FAIRY GREEN
+
+  Upon the magic green I stood
+    Within the fairy ling,
+  Close to the little rustling wood
+    Where fairies always sing.
+
+  I was a little bit afraid,
+    I kept my eyes shut tight,
+  While all around they danced and played--
+    I felt the shining light.
+
+  Nearer and nearer still they came,
+    They touched my dress, my hair;
+  They called me softly by my name;
+    I heard them everywhere.
+
+  I never moved, I never spoke
+    (Oh, but my heart beat fast),
+  And so the little fairy folk
+    All went away at last,
+
+  To-morrow I shall go again
+    And seek the magic place,
+  I shall not be so foolish then,
+    I shall not hide my face.
+
+  But I shall stay for hours and hours
+    Until the daylight ends,
+  And we shall dance among the flowers
+    And be the greatest friends.
+
+  And I shall learn their fairy song;
+    And when I come away
+  Shall dream of it the whole night long
+    And sing it every day.
+
+
+
+
+  THE VISIT
+
+  When I went to Fairyland, visiting the Queen,
+  I rode upon a peacock, blue and gold and green;
+  Silver was the harness, crimson were the reins,
+  All hung about with little bells that swung on silken chains.
+
+  When I went to Fairyland, indeed you cannot think
+  What pretty things I had to eat, what pretty things to drink.
+  And did you know that butterflies could sing like little birds?
+  And did you guess that fairy-talk is not a bit like words?
+
+  When I went to Fairyland--of all the lovely things!--
+  They really taught me how to fly, they gave me fairy wings;
+  And every night I listen for a tapping on the pane--
+  I want so very much to go to Fairyland again.
+
+
+
+
+  ENVOI
+
+  TO THE FAIRIES
+
+  Kindly little fairy friends,
+  Here I fain would make amends;
+  For I seek my verses through,
+  Find no word of thanks to you.
+
+  Many, oh, so many times
+  You have helped me with my rhymes;
+  When my tiny songs were dumb
+  Oft and often have you come;
+  Oft and often have I heard,
+  Sweeter than the song of bird,
+  Fairy voices, crystal-clear,
+  Very softly at my ear
+  (While you poised on fluttering wings)
+  Telling me enchanting things.
+  Often at the fall of night,
+  In the gentle, dusky light
+  Through my garden as I went,
+  To my joy and wonderment
+  Suddenly the air around
+  Blossomed into lovely sound,
+  And I knew that you were there
+  All about me everywhere.
+
+  Could I tell what I have heard,
+  Magic sound and magic word,
+  There would be a book indeed
+  Fit for all the world to read.
+  But alas!--For all my pains,
+  Of those sweet mysterious strains
+  I can only hope to catch
+  Here an echo, there a snatch.
+  Yours is any happy line,
+  All that's done amiss is mine.
+
+
+
+
+The author's best thanks are due to the Editor and Proprietors of
+_Punch_, through whose courtesy she is able to include in this
+collection a number of verses which have already appeared in that paper.
+
+
+
+PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LTD., EDINBURGH.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fairy Green, by Rose Fyleman
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59726 ***