The King, upon his rose-bud throne,
Pales as he hears the waters moan;

The elves have ceased their sportive play,
Hushed by the slowly sinking day:
And still afar, afar they float,

The Fairies in their fragile boat,—

Further and further from the shore,
And lost to mortals evermore!

W. H. Davenport Adams.

A New Fern

A Fairy has found a new fern!

A lovely surprise of the May!

She stamps her wee foot, looks uncommonly stern,

And keeps other fairies at bay.

She watches it flourish and grow

What exquisite pleasure is hers!

She kisses it, strokes it and fondles it so

I almost believe that she purrs !

Of all the most beautiful things,
None brighter than this I discern,

To be a young fairy, with glittering wings,
And then-to discover a fern!

“A.”

The Child and the Fairies

The woods are full of fairies!

The trees are all alive:
The river overflows with them,
See how they dip and dive!
What funny little fellows!
What dainty little dears!
They dance and leap, and
And utter fairy cheers!

prance and

peep,

I'd like to tame a fairy,

To keep it on a shelf,

To see it wash its little face,
And dress its little self.

I'd teach it pretty manners,

It always should say "

Please;"

And then you know I'd make it sew,

And curtsey with its knees!

66

The Little Elf

I met a little Elf-man, once,

Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small
And why he didn't grow.

He slightly frowned, and with his eye
He looked me through and through.
"I'm quite as big for me," said he,

66

'As you are big for

you."

John Kendrick Bangs.

"One, Two, Three"*

It was an old, old, old, old lady

And a boy that was half-past three,
And the way that they played together
Was beautiful to see.

She couldn't go romping and jumping,
And the boy, no more could he;

For he was a thin little fellow,
With a thin little twisted knee.

They sat in the yellow sunlight,
Out under the maple tree,

And the game that they played I'll tell you,

Just as it was told to me.

*From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner." Copyright, 1889, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing. Though you'd never have known it to beWith an old, old, old, old lady

And a boy with a twisted knee.

The boy would bend his face down
On his little sound right knee.
And he guessed where she was hiding
In guesses One, Two, Three.

"You are in the china closet!"

He would cry and laugh with gleeIt wasn't the china closet,

But he still had Two and Three.

"You are up in papa's big bedroom,
In the chest with the queer old key,"
And she said: "You are warm and warmer;
But you are not quite right," said she.

"It can't be the little cupboard

Where mamma's things used to be— So it must be in the clothes press, Gran'ma," And he found her with his Three.

Then she covered her face with her fingers, That were wrinkled and white and wee, And she guessed where the boy was hiding, With a One and a Two and a Three.

And they never had stirred from their places Right under the maple tree

This old, old, old, old lady

And the boy with the lame little knee

This dear, dear, dear old lady

And the boy who was half-past three.

Henry C. Bunner.

What May Happen to a Thimble

Come about the meadow,
Hunt here and there,
Where's mother's thimble?

Can you tell where?
Jane saw her wearing it,

Fan saw it fall,

Ned isn't sure

That she dropp'd it at all.

Has a mouse carried it

Down to her hole-
Home full of twilight,

Shady, small soul?
Can she be darning there,

Ere the light fails,
Small ragged stockings-
Tiny torn tails?