 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
SONG OF THE FAIRIES.
O haste ye, haste to the Avis grove,
The home that the fairies so dearly love;
There a leaf never dies save when others are springing,
More beautiful far, on each slender spray;
There bright-plumaged birds, ever joyously singing,
Are glancing like sunbeams—away, haste away!
The home that the fairies so dearly love;
There a leaf never dies save when others are springing,
More beautiful far, on each slender spray;
There bright-plumaged birds, ever joyously singing,
Are glancing like sunbeams—away, haste away!
Since last we met we have wandered far
Beneath the light of each dewy star;
Borne on the wings of the viewless air,
We have basked in the smile of maidens fair;
And sad ones have blessed the soothing touch
Of our odorous wings o'er their sleepless couch.
But still the farther away we roam,
The dearer we love our own sweet home;
The eye of beauty is not as bright
As the stars in our queen's fair crown of light,
And 'tis dearer far—O no! there is nought
In our own sweet shadowy world so fraught
With exquisite joy, as 'tis thus to stray
Doing good to all; then away, away!
Beneath the light of each dewy star;
Borne on the wings of the viewless air,
We have basked in the smile of maidens fair;
And sad ones have blessed the soothing touch
Of our odorous wings o'er their sleepless couch.
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The dearer we love our own sweet home;
The eye of beauty is not as bright
As the stars in our queen's fair crown of light,
And 'tis dearer far—O no! there is nought
In our own sweet shadowy world so fraught
With exquisite joy, as 'tis thus to stray
Doing good to all; then away, away!
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |