There are Faeries, by Madison Cawein


  There are faeries, bright of eye,
    Who the wildflowers' warders are:
  Ouphes, that chase the firefly;
    Elves, that ride the shooting-star:
  Fays, who in a cobweb lie,
    Swinging on a moonbeam bar;
  Or who harness bumblebees,
  Grumbling on the clover leas,
  To a blossom or a breeze—
    That's their faery car.
  If you care, you too may see
  There are faeries.—Verily,
    There are faeries.


  There are faeries. I could swear
  I have seen them busy, where
  Roses loose their scented hair,
    In the moonlight weaving, weaving,

  Out of starlight and the dew,
  Glinting gown and shimmering shoe;
  Or, within a glowworm lair,
    From the dark earth slowly heaving
  Mushrooms whiter than the moon,
  On whose tops they sit and croon,
  With their grig-like mandolins,
  To fair faery ladykins,
  Leaning from the windowsill
  Of a rose or daffodil,
  Listening to their serenade
  All of cricket-music made.
  Follow me, oh, follow me!
  Ho! away to Faërie!
  Where your eyes like mine may see
  There are faeries.—Verily,
    There are faeries.


  There are faeries. Elves that swing
  In a wild and rainbow ring
  Through the air; or mount the wing
  Of a bat to courier news
  To the faery King and Queen:
  Fays, who stretch the gossamers
  On which twilight hangs the dews;

  Who, within the moonlight sheen,
  Whisper dimly in the ears
  Of the flowers words so sweet
  That their hearts are turned to musk
  And to honey; things that beat
  In their veins of gold and blue:
  Ouphes, that shepherd moths of dusk—
  Soft of wing and gray of hue—
  Forth to pasture on the dew.


  There are faeries; verily;
  For the old owl in the tree,
    Hollow tree,
  He who maketh melody
  For them tripping merrily,
    Told it me.
  There are faeries.—Verily,
    There are faeries.