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 bumble-bees, 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.