And though you should live in a palace of gold, or sleep in a dried up ditch, You could never be as poor as the fairies are, and never as rich.
I think mice
Are rather nice.
Their tails are long,
Their faces small,
They haven't any
Chins at all.
Have you watched the fairies when the rain is done, Spreading out their little wings to dry them in the sun?
Blind folk see the fairies. Oh, better far than we, Who miss the shining of their wings Because our eyes are filled with things We do not wish to see.
Deaf folk hear the fairies However soft their song; 'Tis we who lose the honey sound Amid the clamor all around That beats the whole day long.
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden.
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