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Stern, Long Nosed Gargoyle
All was this land filled with fairie;
The Elf-queen with her jolly companie,
Danced full oft in many a green meadow...
But now no man sees the elves anymore
(Chaucer)
Fey ladies, adorned and all crowned with crowns most sumptuously made, and evermore they sang, danced, and led a right joyous life without thinking of any evil thing. (Keightley)
On hill, in dale, forest or meadow,
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
Or on the beached margin of the sea,
[They] dance their ringlets to the whistling wind. (Shakespeare)
Victorian Girl with Fairies, Water Color
Illustration of Pegaus'
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those fre
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dewdrops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
(Shakespeare)
"Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”
(William Butler Yeats)
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, Ye elves of hills, brooks,
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms,
(Shakespeare)
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