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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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.

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