OH, WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS?
Reading edition
BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY
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 Carousal they maintain; And cheer their little spirits thus Till green leaves come again.
Or, maybe, in soft garments rolled, In hollow trees they lie, And sing, when nestled from the cold, To while the season by. There, while they sleep in pleasant trance, ’Neath mossy counterpane, In dreams they weave some fairy dance, Till green leaves come again.
When they return there will be mirth And music in the air, And fairy rings 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.
