Fairy Song by John Keats

I.

Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! oh, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies,--
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!
'Mong the blossoms white and red--
Look up, look up! I flutter now
On this fresh pomegranate bough.
See me! 'tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill.
Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu -- I fly -- adieu!
I vanish in the heaven’s blue,--
Adieu, adieu!

II.
Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
That I must chant thy lady's dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,--
Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me!
That I must see
These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!
Go, pretty page! and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near!
Softly tell her not to fear
Such calm favonian burial!
Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,--
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,
And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice
Upon her closed eyes,
That now in vain are weeping their last tears,
At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,--
Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,
Alas! poor Queen!

And if this isn't enough Fairy Poetry For you, why not go here to my Portal to Fairy Tale Poetry here, and find some of the best Fairy poetry there is.

A.J.

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And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

A Cloak for a Fairy (Anonymous)

Victorian Fairy Painting Anonymous

Spider, Spider, what are you spinning?
A cloak for a fairy, I'm just beginning.
What is it made of, tell me true?
Threads of moonshine, pearls of dew.
When will the fairy be wearing it?
tonight when the glow worms' lamps are lit.
Can I see her if I come peeping?
All good children must then be sleeping.



A strange co-incidence happened today - I - all terribly tied up with deadlines hadn't organised my spider poem round up, and my mother was in fact searching for an old spider poem she couldn't quite remember.  And so she complained, that when she looked for this old family favourite - all she could find was my blog.  Of course, this was good news because we found it in one of our old poetry books not long after and now you too can enjoy this old - almost forgotten poem :)

Apologies Lorraine, it looks like there's going to be one more week before I complete my spider round-up. although it really is a fairy tale poem too, and therefore also belongs in my Portal to Fairy Tale Poetry.

Cheers, everyone, enjoy your week, and if spiders don't scare you why not spin your way into the silken danger of my spider poetry roundup here at http://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/tuesday-poem-spider-poem-roundup-with.html

cheers,
A.J.

A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.

Stolen Time

 In the forest late at night
As the moon was shining
I thought I saw a fair one

Out at midnight dining

A blanket and a basket

A wine of claret red

A bosom warm as dawn

On which to lay his head

I blinked and all t'was over

The night was sped away

And twenty years, they rushed by

The night I passed that way

The fair one he was restless

And jealous of the Day

And fair he held her close

And bid her come his way

She spoke her words so warm
And smiled like winter sun
And when she laughed it burned
Twenty years undone

Now in the forest late at night
When sister Moon is swollen
I beseech her there to free
The years that Day has stolen

But sweet Day, so young and fey  
I do protest in vain
Though my bones turn ashen grey
I love you just the same

A blanket and a basket
A wine of claret red
Your bosom's far too warm
For a mortal's bed

 A.J. Ponder 
 

I love the classic fairy tales of lost time, the deadly romance of it all (mostly the deadly bit) and so this is my homage to those tales and poems (they had such a wonderful way with rhyme and metre) of my misspent youth.  And talking about misspent youth - received "Tiny Trouble" in the mail - thanks to Pearson's Journal, "Comet" and it looks fab :)  Also posted off the paperwork for "Legendary" (co-written with Peter Friend), which will be printed in their "Explore" magazine soonish.

If you love poetry, try out the Tuesday Poem hub http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/
or for more fairytale poetry click here to my Fairytale Poetry Hub

Cheers,
A.J.

The Fair Folk/The Fairies by William Allingham

All the talk about hobbits made me remember an old child-hood favourite  by William Allingham

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And grey cock's feather! Down along the rocky shore, Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top The old king sits; He is now so old and grey He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkille he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieve League to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long. When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lakes, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare They have planted thorn trees For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring To dig up one in spite, He shall find the thornies set In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And grey cock's feather!

William Alingham, 19 March 1824  (or possibly 1828 general consensus seems to be 1824)- 18 November 1889 . William Alingham was an Irish poet described as clear, fresh and graceful, his work has always been thought of as charming, and although he was never really famous like some of the other poets of the time, his work is still around over a hundred years later, apparently Terry Pratchett's working title for "The Wee Free Men" was "For Fear of Little Men" after the poem, and the opening verse has been used in a number of other works including Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Click here to arrive at the Portal for Fairy Tale Poetry, or back at the Tuesday Poem hub:  

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