 | Summer of Love |  |
7
IN FAIRYLAND
The fairy poet takes a sheet
Of moonbeam, silver white,
His ink is dew from daisies sweet,
His pen a point of light.
Of moonbeam, silver white,
His ink is dew from daisies sweet,
His pen a point of light.
My love, I know is fairer far
Than his, (though she is fair,)
And we should dwell where fairies are
For I could praise her there.
Than his, (though she is fair,)
And we should dwell where fairies are
For I could praise her there.
| Summer of Love | |