“Oh! where do fairies hide their heads?”

Oh! where do fairies hide their heads,   When snow lies on the hills, When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,   And crystallized their rills? Beneath the moon they cannot trip   In circles o’er the plain; And draughts of dew they cannot sip,   Till green leaves come again. Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells   They plunge beneath the waves, Inhabiting the wreathèd shells   That lie in coral caves. Perhaps, in red Vesuvius   Carousals they maintain; And cheer their little spirits thus,   Till green leaves come again. When they return, there will be mirth   And music in the air, And fairy wings upon the earth,   And mischief everywhere. The maids, to keep the elves aloof,   Will bar the doors in vain; No key-hole will be fairy-proof,   When green leaves come again.