By: Celtic Bard Jeff
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Oh, where do fairies hide their heads
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When snow lies on the hills,
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When frost has spoiled their mossy,
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And crystallized their rills?
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Beneath the moon they cannot trip
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In circles o’er the plain,
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And draughts of dew they cannot sip
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Till green leaves come again.
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Perhaps, in small blue diving-bells
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They plunge beneath the waves–
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Inhabiting the wreathed shells
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That lie in coral caves.
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Perhaps in red Vesuvius
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Carousal they maintain
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And cheer their little spirits thus
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Till green leaves come again.
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Or, maybe, in soft garments rolled,
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In hollow trees they lie,
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And sing, when nestled from the cold,
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To while the season by.
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There, while they sleep in pleasant trance,
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‘Neath mossy counterpane,
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In dreams they weave some fairy dance,
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Till green leaves come again.
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When they return there will be mirth
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And music in the air,
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And fairy rings upon the earth,
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And mischief everywhere.
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The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
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Will bar the doors in vain;
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No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
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When green leaves come again.
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Written by: THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY
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Image: Faery Shea. Illustration via ‘Mythological’ by Sabin Reinhardt and Richard Merritt. Coloring and photo by Celtic Bard Jeff.