Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget Between the night and morrow; On a bed of flag leaves, Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hillside, As dig one up in spite? Up the airy mountain, Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather. FAIRY SONG. JOHN KEATS. SHED no tear! O shed no tear! Young buds sleep in the roots' white core. Shed no tear! Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red The flower will bloom another year. I vanish in the heaven's blue Adieu, adieu! THE WOUNDED DAISY. ANONYMOUS. A FAIRY was mending a daisy They showed her scores in the hedges, Then round they cluster, and chatter — How each had a flower more fine; One shook buttercups at her, And one brought briony-twine, Strong red poppies to vex her, Tiny bright-eyes to beguile, Tall green flags to perplex her; She work'd and she sang this ditty, "Was it a careless mower "They did not know you would suffer, Do I not hear one sobbing, Down in your poor little root? "Ah, you tremble a little! Have I hurt you at last? If you were not so brittle, I could mend you so fast. "Now I've mended you neatly, "Yes, your cheeks may be whiter But no flower that uncloses Can be precious as you, Not an army of roses Fighting all the year through!" Then the fairies confess it, As that daisy revives; |