The primroses scattered by April,
The stars of the wide Milky Way,
Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children
Magic hath stolen away.
The buttercup green of the meadows,
The snow of the blossoming may,
Lovelier are not than the legions of children
Magic hath stolen away.
The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam,
The albatross lone on the spray,
Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children
Magic hath stolen away.
In vain: for at hush of the evening,
When the stars twinkle into the grey,
Seems to echo the far-away calling of children
Magic hath stolen away.
THREE QUEER TALES
BERRIES
There was an old woman
Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
From Weep to Wicking. -
Half a pottle-
No more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
From her green grot;
And says, 'Well, Jill,
Would 'ee pick ee mo?'
And Jill, she curtseys,
And looks just so.
Be off,' says the Fairy,
'As quick as you can,
Over the meadows
To the little green lane
That dips to the hayfields
Of Farmer Grimes:
I've berried those hedges
A score of times;
Bushel on bushel
I'll promise'ee, Jill,
This side of supper
If'ee pick with a will.'
She glints very bright,
And speaks her fair;
Then lo, and behold!
She had faded in air.
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