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A Fairy Flight by Rose Terry Cooke

 

A fairy lived in a lily bell—
Ring, sing, columbine!
In frosts she stole a wood-snail's shell,
Till soft the sun should shine;
And spring-time comes again, my dear,
And spring-time comes again,
With rattling showers, and wakened flowers,
And bristling blades of grain.

And, oh! the lily bell was sweet—
Ring, swing, columbine!
But the snail shell pinched her little feet,
And suns were slow to shine.
It's long till spring-time comes, my dear,
Till spring-time comes again:
The year delays its smiling days,
And snow-drifts heap the plain.

The fairy caught a butterfly—
Swing, cling, columbine!
The last that dared to float and fly
When pale the sun did shine;
For spring is slow to come, my dear,
Is slow to come again,
And far away doth summer play,
Beyond the roaring main.

She mounted on her painted steed—
Ring, cling, columbine!
And well he served that fairy's need,
And hot the sun did shine.
The spring she followed fast, my dear,
She followed it amain;
Where blossoms throng the whole year long
She found the spring again.

Oh, fairy sweet! come back once more—
Ring, swing, columbine!
When grass is green on hill and shore,
And summer sunbeams shine.
What if the spring is late, my dear,
And comes with dropping rain?
When roses blow and rivers flow,
Come back to us again.