"And some are made of the hazel,
And some are made of the horn;
And some are made of the silver white,
For the good-luck babes that are born."
"But what are they for, my Baby?"
"Nay! that part I cannot tell!
But send for the fairy Spoonman,
For he knows it all right well.
"Oh! the little old fairy Spoonman,
He lives in the white, white moon.
Send a whisper up by a moonbeam,
And he will be down here soon."
Then I whispered along a moonbeam
That silvered the grass so clear,
"Oh! little old fairy Spoonman,
Come down and comfort my dear!"
Then something came sliding, sliding
Down out of the white, white moon.
And something came gliding, gliding
Straight in at my window soon.
And there stood a little old fairy,
All bent and withered and black,
With a leathern apron about him,
And a bundle of spoons at his back.
And first he looked at my baby,
And then he looked at me;
And then he looked at his apron,
But never a word spake he.
"Oh! Spoonman dear," said the baby,
"The wind blew my spoon away.
So now will you give me another,
You little black Spoonman, pray?
"For I did not lose my spoonie,
Nor drop it carelessly;
But a wind came up to my poor little mouth,
And blew it away from me."
"Now well for you," said the Spoonman,
"Little Baby, if this be so.
For if you had carelessly lost your spoon,
Without it through life you'd go.