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My wealth is all for them;
For them is set each glossy cup
Upon each sturdy stem.
O little playmates whom I love!
The sky is summer-blue,
And meadows full of buttercups
Are spread abroad for you.
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Bright and small,
Peeps from the bank
Or the old stone wall.
Little Herb Robert,
His leaf turns red;
He's wild geranium,
So it is said.
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My flowers raise
Their tiny faces.
By streams my bigger sisters grow,
And smile in gardens,
In a row.
I've never seen a garden plot;
But though I'm small,
Forget me not!
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The lark sings on high;
In scarlet silk a~glowing,
Here stand I.
The wheat's turning yellow,
Ripening for sheaves;
I hear the little fellow
Who scares the bird~thieves.
Now the harvest's ended,
The wheat-field is bare;
But still, red and splendid,
I am there.
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What do you see?"
The cool green woodland,
The fat velvet bee;
Hey, Mr Bumble,
I've honey here for thee!
"Foxglove, Foxglove,
What see you now?"
The soft summer moonlight
On bracken, grass, and bough;
And all the fairies dancing
As only they know how.
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I am the English Rose;
As light and free as any Jenny Wren,
As dear to Englishmen;
As joyous as a Robin Redbreast's tune,
I scent the air of June;
My buds are rosy as a baby's cheeck;
I have one word to speak,
One word which is my secret and my song,
'Tis "England, England, England" all
day long.
Fairys of Spring
Fairys of Autumn
