Part 2

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.

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