Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather.
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
By William Allingham
Th faeries and elf need feeding. It's the witching hour again. Pity they can't live on dew drops and thistle down like their fictional selves. Left-over fried rice beckons and I can hear the 'but I don't like this' welling up and the "I want the peas separate' and 'I'm full' and 'It's too spicy'.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry, Take a cherry
Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder
Mine are sweeter, For the eater
When the dews fall. And you'll be fairies all.
By Robert Graves
