Song of Fairies Robbing an Orchard

We, the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing

James Henry Leigh Hunt

James Henry Leigh Hunt was an English critic, essayist, and poet, born on October 19, 1784, in Southgate, London. He was a central figure of the Romantic movement and is best known for his poems 'Jenny Kissed Me' and 'Abou Ben Adhem.' Hunt also co-founded the influential literary periodical, 'The Examiner', in 1808. He had a significant impact on his contemporaries, including John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Hunt passed away on August 28, 1859, in Putney, London.

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English

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Fairies' Song

Translation of a Latin poem by Thomas Randolph

We the fairies blithe and antic
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter;
Stolen kisses much completer;
Stolen looks are nice in chapels;
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Thens the time for orchard robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for the stealing, stealing.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

Cherry-Time

Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
        Merry, merry,
        Take a cherry;
        Mine are sounder,
        Mine are rounder,
        Mine are sweeter
        For the eater
        Under the moon.
And you'll be fairies soon.

In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There's a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
        Merry, merry,
        Take a cherry;
        Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder
        Mine are sweeter
        For the eater
        In the moonlight.
And you'll be fairies quite.

When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin ...

Robert von Ranke Graves

Song - I'd Be A Fairy King.

Oh, I'd be a Fairy King,
With my vassals brave and bold;
        We'd hunt all day,
        Through the wildwood gay,
In our guise of green and gold;
And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
That the silly, toiling bee,
        Would have no sweet
        In its dull retreat,
So rich as our frolic glee.
        I'd be a Fairy King,
            With my vassals brave and bold;
                    We'd hunt all day,
                    Through the wildwood gay,
            In our guise of green and gold.

At night, when the moon spake down,
With her bland and pensive tone,
        The fairest Queen
        That ever was seen
Would sit on my pearly throne;
And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
That the stars would laugh in show'rs

Charles Sangster

Song.

Why have you stolen my delight
In all the golden shows of Spring
When every cherry-tree is white
And in the limes the thrushes sing,

O fickler than the April day,
O brighter than the golden broom,
O blither than the thrushes' lay,
O whiter than the cherry-bloom,

O sweeter than all things that blow ...
Why have you only left for me
The broom, the cherry's crown of snow,
And thrushes in the linden-tree?

Francis Brett Young

The Orchard.

    There's no garden like an orchard,
    Nature shows no fairer thing
    Than the apple trees in blossom
    In these late days o' the spring.

    Here the robin redbreast's nesting,
    Here, from golden dawn till night,
    Honey bees are gaily swimming
    In a sea of pink and white.

    Just a sea of fragrant blossoms,
    Steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew,
    Just a fragrant breath which tells you
    Earth is fair again and new.

    Just a breath of subtle sweetness,
    Breath which holds the spice o' youth,
    Holds the promise o' the summer -
    Holds the best o' things, forsooth.

    There's no garden like an orchard,
    Nature shows no fairer thing
    Than the apple trees in blossom
    In these late...

Jean Blewett

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