The little bright fairy
Never singeth “Ave Mary,”
For in the wood both blithe and dim
What needs he of chant or hymn?
But every flower shall be his bed,
And he shall sing
A song of every living thing,
And on the moss shall fleetly tread;
But since thou be not fairy,
On thy knees sing “Ave Mary.”
The steadfast violet
Shall upon his brow be set,
Even though he faithless be
Ever to flit from tree to tree;
But he shall rest upon the one
That blossoms white,
The hawthorn, tree of dear delight,
And there shall sing unto the sun:
But shivering misers, thin and wary,
Needs must sing an “Ave Mary.”
1914.