The Flight of the Fairies

There's a rustle in the woodlands,
    and a sighing in the breeze,
For the Little Folk are busy in the bushes
    and the trees;
They are packing up their treasures, every
    one with nimble hand,
Ready for the coming journey back to
    sunny Fairyland.

They have gathered up the jewels from
    their beds of mossy green,
With all the dewy diamonds that summer
    morns have seen;
The silver from the lichen and the
    powdered gold dust, too,
Where the buttercups have flourished and
    the dandelions grew.

They packed away the birdies' songs,
    then, lest we should be sad,
They left the Robin's carol out, to make
    the winter glad;
They packed the fragrance of the flowers,
    then, lest we should forget,
Out of the pearly scented box they
    dropped a Violet.

Then o'er a leafy carpet, by the silent
    woods they came,
Where the golden bracken lingered and
    the maples were aflame.
On the stream the starlight shimmered, o'er
    their wings the moonbeams shone,
Music filtered through the forest — and the
    Little Folk were gone!