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,...

From “The End of Elfintown”
*        *        *        *        *FOR this holds true—too true, alas!
The sky that eve was clear as glass,
Yet no man saw the Faeries pass
    Where azure pathways glisten;
And true it is—too true, ay me—
That...

Poet: Jane Barlow

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
  ...