Sitting on the flower-bed beneath the hollyhocks
I spied the tiny tailor who makes the fairies' frocks;
There he sat a-stitching all the afternoon
And sang a little ditty to a quaint wee tune:
"Grey for the goblins, blue for the elves,
Brown for the little gnomes that live by themselves,
White for the pixies that dance upon the green,
But where shall I find me a robe for the Queen?"
All about the garden his little men he sent,
Up and down and in and out unceasingly they went;
Here they stole a blossom, there they pulled a leaf,
And bound them up with gossamer into a glowing sheaf.
Petals of the pansy for little velvet shoon,
Silk of the poppy for a dance beneath the moon,
Lawn of the jessamine, damask of the rose,
To make their pretty kirtles and airy furbelows.
Never roving pirates back from Southern seas
Brought a store of treasures home beautiful as these;
They heaped them all about him in a sweet gay pile,
But still he kept a-stitching and a-singing all the while:
"Grey for the goblins, blue for the elves,
Brown for the little gnomes that live by themselves,
White for the pixies that dance on the green,
But who shall make a royal gown to deck the Fairy Queen?"