Flower Fairies of Spring (Cicely Mary Barker)

Spring Magic

The World is very old;

But year by year

It groweth new again

When buds appear.

The world is very old,

And sometimes sad,

But when the daisies come

The world is glad

The world is very old;

But every Spring

It groweth young again;

And fairies sing.

—Cecily Mary Barker 

The Complete Book of Flower Fairies

Poetry & Artwork by Cicely Mary Barker

Video by silverbirch4444art

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MZVU5VbVM0

Poems compiled by Frederick Warne

http://lair2000.net/fairy_spring_poems/rain.html

THE SONG OF THE CROCUS FAIRIES Crocus of yellow, new and gay; Mauve and purple, in brave array; Crocus white Like a cup of light, — Hundreds of them are smiling up, Each with a flame in its shining cup, By the touch of the warm and welcome sun Opened suddenly. Spring's begun! Dance then, fairies, for joy, and sing The song of the coming again of Spring.

THE SONG OF THE COLT'S-FOOT FAIRY The winds of March are keen and cold; I fear them not, for I am bold. I wait not for my leaves to grow; They follow after: they are slow. My yellow blooms are brave and bright; I greet the Spring with all my might.

THE SONG OF THE DANDELION FAIRY Here's the Dandelion's rhyme: See my leaves with tooth-like edges; Blow my clocks to tell the time; See me flaunting by the hedges, In the meadow, in the lane, Gay and naughty in the garden; Pull me up – I grow again, Asking neither leave nor pardon. Sillies, what are you about With your spades and hoes of iron? You can never drive me out Me, the dauntless Dandelion!

THE SONG OF THE WILLOW-CATKIN FAIRY The people call me Palm, they do; They call me Pussy-willow too. And when I'm full in bloom, the bees Come humming round my yellow trees. The people trample round about And spoil the little trees, and shout; My shiny twigs are thin and brown: The people pull and break them down. To keep a Holy Feast, they say, They take my pretty boughs away. I should be glad – I should not mind If only people weren't unkind. Oh, you may pick a piece, you may (So dear and silky, soft and grey); But if you're rough and greedy, why You'll make the little fairies cry.

THE SONG OF THE WINDFLOWER FAIRY While human-folk slumber, The fairies espy Stars without number Sprinkling the sky. The Winter's long sleeping, Like night-time, is done; But day-stars are leaping To welcome the sun. Star-like they sprinkle The wildwood with light; Countless they twinkle The Windflowers white! ("Windflower" is another name for Wood Anemone.)

THE SONG OF THE LARCH FAIRY Sing a song of Larch trees Loved by fairy-folk; Dark stands the pinewood, Bare stands the oak, But the Larch is dressed and trimmed Fit for fairy-folk! Sing a song of Larch trees, Sprays that swing aloft, Pink tufts, and tassels Grass-green and soft: All to please the little elves Singing songs aloft!

THE SONG OF THE BLUEBELL FAIRY My hundred thousand bells of blue, The splendour of the Spring, They carpet all the woods anew With royalty of sapphire hue; The Primrose is the Queen, 'tis true. But surely I am King! Ah yes, The peerless Woodland King! Loud, loud the thrushes sing their song; The bluebell woods are wide; My stems are tall and straight and strong; From ugly streets the children throng, They gather armfuls, great and long, Then home they troop in pride Ah yes, With laughter and with pride! (This is the Wild Hyacinth. The Bluebell of Scotland is the Harebell.)

THE SONG OF THE DAFFODIL FAIRY I'm everyone's darling: the blackbird and starling Are shouting about me from blossoming boughs; For I, the Lent Lily, the Daffy-down-dilly, Have heard through the country the call to arouse. The orchards are ringing with voices a-singing The praise of my petticoat, praise of my gown; The children are playing, and hark! they are saying That Daffy-down-dilly is come up to town!

THE SONG OF THE STITCHWORT FAIRY I am brittle-stemmed and slender, But the grass is my defender. On the banks where grass is long, I can stand erect and strong. All my mass of starry faces Looking up from wayside places, From the thick and tangled grass, Gives you greeting as you pass. (A prettier name for Stitchwort is Starwort, though rarely used.)

THE SONG OF THE MAY FAIRY My buds, they cluster small and green; The sunshine gaineth heat: Soon shall the hawthorn tree be clothed As with a snowy sheet. O magic sight, the hedge is white, My scent is very sweet; And lo, where I am come indeed, The Spring and Summer meet.