BIRD-LORE
PEACOCKS
Peacocks sweep the fairies' rooms;
They use their folded tails for brooms;
But fairy dust is brighter far
Than any mortal colours are,
And all about their tails it clings
In strange designs of rounds and rings:
And that is why they strut about
And proudly spread their feathers out.
THE CUCKOO
The Cuckoo is a tell-tale,
A mischief-making bird;
He flies to East, he flies to West
And whispers into every nest
The wicked things he's heard;
He loves to spread his naughty lies,
He laughs about it as he flies:
"Cuckoo," he cries, "cuckoo, cuckoo,
It's true, it's true."
And when the fairies catch him
His busy wings they dock,
They shut him up for evermore
(He may not go beyond the door)
Inside a wooden clock;
Inside a wooden clock he cowers
And has to tell the proper hours—
"Cuckoo," he cries, "cuckoo, cuckoo,
It's true, it's true."
THE ROOKS
High in the elm-trees sit the rooks,
Or flit about with busy looks
And solemn, ceaseless caws.
Small wonder they are so intent,
They are the fairies' Parliament—
They make the fairy laws.