Luggage in Advance

"The Fairies must have come," I said,
"For through the moist leaves, brown and dead,
The Primroses are pushing up,
And here's a scarlet Fairy-cup.
They must have come, because I see
A single Wood Anemone,
The flower that everybody knows
The Fairies use to scent their clothes.
And hark! The South Wind blowing, fills
The trumpets of the Daffodils.
They MUST have come!"

        Then loud to me
Sang from a budding cherry tree,
A cheerful Thrush . . . "I say! I say!
The Fairy Folk are on their way.
Look out! Look out! Beneath your feet,
Are all their treasures: Sweet! Sweet! Sweet!
They could not carry them, you see,
Those caskets crammed with witchery,
So ready for the first Spring dance,
They sent their Luggage in Advance!"

Fay Inchfawn

Fay Inchfawn was the pen name of Elizabeth Rebecca Ward, a prolific British author and poet born in 1880. She published a variety of works, including poetry, essays, and books on homemaking, and was known for her cheerful, optimistic writing style. Her works often focused on domestic life and faith, resonating particularly with female readers in the early to mid-20th century. Beyond her literary output, little is widely known about her personal life. Fay Inchfawn passed away in 1978.

Fay Inchfawn

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Listening

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English

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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 ...

Fay Inchfawn

Early Spring

Quick through the gates of Fairyland
The South Wind forced his way.
'Twas his to make the Earth forget
Her grief of yesterday.
"'Tis mine," cried he, "to bring her joy!"
And on his lightsome feet
In haste he slung the snowdrop bells,
Pushed past the Fairy sentinels,
And out with laughter sweet.

Clear flames of Crocus glimmered on
The shining way he went.
He whispered to the trees strange tales
Of wondrous sweet intent,
When, suddenly, his witching voice
With timbre rich and rare,
Rang through the woodlands till it cleft
Earth's silent solitudes, and left
A Dream of Roses there!

Fay Inchfawn

There Are Fairies

I.

There are fairies, bright of eye,
Who the wildflowers' warders are:
Ouphes that chase the firefly;
Elves that ride the shooting star;
Fays who in a cobweb lie,
Swinging on a moonbeam-bar,
Or who harness bumblebees,
Grumbling on the clover leas,
To a blossom or a breeze,
That's their fairy car.
If you care, you too may see
There are fairies verily
There are fairies.

II.

There are fairies. I could swear
I have seen them busy where
Rose leaves loose their scented hair,
In the moonlight weaving weaving
Out of starshine and the dew
Glinting gown and shimmering shoe;
Or within a glow-worm lair
From the dark earth slowly heaving
Mushrooms whiter than the moon,
On whose tops they sit and croon,
With the...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Thrush

Across the land came a magic word
When the earth was bare and lonely,
And I sit and sing of the joyous spring,
For 'twas I who heard, I only!
Then dreams came by, of the gladsome days,
Of many a wayside posy;
For a crocus peeps where the wild rose sleeps,
And the willow wands are rosy!

Oh! the time to be! When the paths are green,
When the primrose-gold is lying
'Neath the hazel spray, where the catkins sway,
And the dear south wind comes sighing.

My mate and I, we shall build a nest,
So snug and warm and cosy,
When the kingcups gleam on the meadow stream,
Where the willow wands are rosy!

Fay Inchfawn

At the Cross Roads

There I halted. Further down the hollow
Stood the township, where my errand lay.
Firm my purpose, till a voice cried (Follow!
Come this way -- I tell you -- come this way!)

Silence, Thrush! You know I think of buying
A Spring-tide hat; my frock is worn and old.
So to the shops I go. What's that you're crying?
(Here! Come here! And gather primrose gold.)
Well, yes. Some day I will; but time is going.
I haste to purchase silks and satins fair.
I'm all in rags. (The Lady's Smock is showing
Up yonder, in the little coppice there.)

And wood anemones spread out their laces;
Each celandine has donned a silken gown;
The violets are lifting shy sweet faces.
(And there's a chiff-chaff, soft, and slim, and brown.)

But what about my hat? (The bees are hu...

Fay Inchfawn

On All Souls' Eve

Oh, the garden ways are lonely!
Winds that bluster, winds that shout,
Battle with the strong laburnum,
Toss the sad brown leaves about.
In the gay herbaceous border,
Now a scene of wild disorder,
The last dear hollyhock has flamed his
crimson glory out.

Yet, upon this night of longing,
Souls are all abroad, they say.
Will they come, the dazzling blossoms,
That were here but yesterday?
Will the ghosts of radiant roses
And my sheltered lily-closes
Hold once more their shattered fragrance
now November's on her way?

Wallflowers, surely you'll remember,
Pinks, recall it, will you not?
How I loved and watched and tended,
Made this ground a hallowed spot:
Pansies, with the soft meek faces,
Harebells, with a thousand graces:
D...

Fay Inchfawn