Milky Way,
  Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children
     Magic hath stolen away.

  The buttercup green of the meadows,
     The snow of the blossoming may,
  Lovelier are not than the legions of children
     Magic hath stolen away.

  The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam,
     The albatross lone on the spray,
  Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children
     Magic hath stolen away.

  In vain: for at hush of the evening,
     When the stars twinkle into the grey,
  Seems to echo the far-away calling of children
     Magic hath stolen away.

THREE QUEER TALES

BERRIES

  There was an old woman
     Went blackberry picking
  Along the hedges
     From Weep to Wicking. -
  Half a pottle-
     No more she had got,
  When out steps a Fairy
     From her green grot;
  And says, 'Well, Jill,
     Would 'ee pick ee mo?'
  And Jill, she curtseys,
     And looks just so.
  Be off,' says the Fairy,
     'As quick as you can,
  Over the meadows
     To the little green lane
  That dips to the hayfields
     Of Farmer Grimes:
  I've berried those hedges
     A score of times;
  Bushel on bushel
     I'll promise'ee, Jill,
  This side of supper
     If'ee pick with a will.'
  She glints very bright,
     And speaks her fair;
  Then lo, and behold!
     She had faded in air.

  Be sure Old Goodie
     She trots betimes
  Over the meadows
     To Farmer Grimes.
  And never was queen
     With jewelry rich
  As those same hedges
     From twig to ditch;
  Like Dutchmen's coffers,
     Fruit, thorn, and flower -
  They shone like William
     And Mary's bower.
  And be sure Old Goodie
     Went back to Weep,
  So tired with her basket
     She scarce could creep.

  When she comes in the dusk
     To her cottage door,
  There's Towser wagging
     As never before,
  To see his Missus
     So glad to be
  Come from her fruit-picking
     Back to he.
  As soon as next morning
     Dawn was grey,
  The pot on the hob
     Was simmering away;
  And all in a stew
     And a hugger-mugger
  Towser and Jill
     A-boiling of sugar,
  And the dark clear fruit
     That from Faerie came,
  For syrup and jelly
     And blackberry jam.

  Twelve jolly gallipots
     Jill put by;
  And one little teeny one,
     One inch high;
  And that she's hidden
     A good thumb deep,
  Half way over
     From Wicking to Weep.

OFF THE GROUND

  Three jolly Farmers
  Once bet a pound
  Each dance the others would
  Off the ground.
  Out of their coats
  They slipped right soon,
  And neat and nicesome,
  Put each his shoon.
  One - Two - Three! -
  And away they go,
  Not too fast,
  And not too slow;
  Out from the elm-tree's
  Noonday shadow,
  Into the sun
  And across the meadow.
  Past the schoolroom,
  With knees well bent
  Fingers a-flicking,
  They dancing went.
  Up sides and over,
  And round and round,
  They crossed click-clacking,
  The Parish bound,
  By Tupman's meadow
  They did their mile,
  Tee-t-tum
  On a three-barred stile.
  Then straight through Whipham,
  Downhill to Week,
  Footing it lightsome,
  But not too quick,
  Up fields to Watchet,
  And on through Wye,
  Till seven fine churches
  They'd seen skip by -
  Seven fine churches,
  And five old mills,
  Farms in the valley,
  And sheep on the hills;
  Old Man's Acre
  And Dead Man's Pool
  All left behind,
  As they danced through Wool.
  And Wool gone by,
  Like tops that seem
  To spin in sleep
  They danced in dream;
  Withy - Wellover -
  Wassop-Wo-
  Like an old clock
  Their heels did go.
  A league and a league
  And a league they went,
  And not one weary,
  And not one spent.
  And Io, and behold!
  Past Willow-cum-Leigh
  Stretched with its waters
  The great green sea.
  Says Farmer Bates,
  I puffs and I blows,
  What's under the water,
  Why, no man knows!'
  Says Farmer Giles,
  'My wind comes weak,
  And a good man drownded
  Is far to seek.'
  But Farmer Turvey,
  On twirling toes
  Up's with his gaiters,
  And in he goes:
  Down where the mermaids
  Pluck and play
  On their twangling harps
  In a sea-green day;
  Down where the mermaids,
  Finned and fair,
  Sleek with their combs
  Their yellow hair….
  Bates and Giles-
  On the shingle sat,
  Gazing at Turvey's
  Floating hat.
  But never a ripple
  Nor bubble told
  Where he was supping
  Off plates of gold.
  Never an echo
  Rilled through the sea
  Of the feasting and dancing
  And minstrelsy.
  They called-called-called:
  Came no reply:
  Nought but the ripples'
  Sandy sigh.
  Then glum and silent
  They sat instead,
  Vacantly brooding
  On home and bed,
  Till both together
  Stood up and said.-
  'Us knows not, dreams not,
  Where you be,
  Turvey, unless
  In the deep blue sea;
  But axcusing silver-
  And it comes most willing -
  Here's us two paying
  Our forty shilling;
  For it's sartin sure, Turvey,
  Safe and sound,
  You danced us square, Turvey,
  Off the ground!'

THE THIEF AT ROBIN'S CASTLE

  There came a Thief one night to Robin's Castle,
  He climbed up into a Tree;
  And sitting with his head among the branches,
  A wondrous Sight did see.

  For there was Robin supping at his table,
  With Candles of pure Wax,
  His Dame and his two beauteous little Children,
  With Velvet on their backs.

  Platters for each there were shin-shining,
  Of Silver many a pound,
  And all of beaten Gold, three brimming Goblets,
  Standing the table round.

  The smell that rose up richly from the Baked Meats
  Came thinning amid the boughs,
  And much that greedy Thief who snuffed the night air-
  His Hunger did arouse.

  He watched them eating, drinking, laughing, talking,
  Busy with finger and spoon,
  While three most cunning Fiddlers, clad in crimson,
  Played them a supper-tune.

  And he waited in the tree-top like a Starling,
  Till the Moon was gotten low;