When fairies have a picnic they see the fire is out,
For fear that Brother Wind may come and scatter it about.
They leave a pile of brushwood, as that is nice and dry,
For other picnic people who are certain to pass by!
When fairies have a picnic they never break the trees,
They smooth the grass and daisy-buds as gently as you please,
And packing up their baskets they softly steal away,
And leave the place all beautiful for some one else to play!
Fairy Gramophone
When you're still and quite alone
Hear the fairy gramophone,
Now a march for fairy feet,
Now a lullaby so sweet;
Overture from fairy play,
Melody of little fay.
Sit upon this mossy stone—
Play on, fairy gramophone!
Sweet the fairy records are,
Sun, and moon, and twinkling star,
Winds that call and streams that rush,
Song of Tit, and Brother Thrush,
Call of little furry things,
Rustle of a hundred wings—
Hear the fairy gramophone
When you're still and quite alone!
A Wish
I wished a wish the other night as hard as hard could be,
That just a fairy would peep in and come and talk to me.
I cuddled tightly in my bed, the clothes up round my chin,
And kept my eyes awake to watch the fairy coming in.
I counted patterns on the wall and pictures just the same,
To help to while the time away until the fairy came.
The little clock went tick-a-tock, the wind sang round the house,
I heard a step upon the floor as soft as any mouse.