THE ENCHANTED LAND

Can’t you hear the fairies? Their singing fills the glen; Can’t you see them dancing? The gayest little men, Dressed in green and yellow, with tiny silver shoon That catch their glint and sparkle from June-time’s golden moon. Can’t you hear them whispering, whispering soft and low, All the wondrous secrets that you so long to know? But you must ne’er be telling a thing you chance to hear; The fairies would be sorry they let you come so near. Don’t you want to travel, these many leagues away, To where the fairies revel through the night and day? The train will soon be leaving, on a track of golden dust, ’Tis this you’ll need for luggage: a heart of simple trust.