PICCANINNIES BY ISABEL MAUD PEACOCKE

PICCANINNIES

If your heart is pure, and your eyes are clear,
And you come the one right day of the year,
And eat of the fruit of the Magic Tree
The wee Bush Folk you will surely see.

In the green and woody places,
Thickets shady, sunlit spaces,
Have you never heard us calling,
When the golden eve is falling—
When the noon-day sun is beaming—
When the silver moon is gleaming?
Have you never seen us dancing—
Through the mossy tree-boles glancing?
Have you never caught us gliding
Through the tall ferns? laughing—hiding?
We are here, we are there—
We are everywhere;
Swinging on the tree tops, floating in the air;
Hush! Hush! Hush!
Creep into the Bush,
You will find us everywhere.

f you would see,
First bathe your eyes,
In dew that lies
On the bracken tree.

If you would hear
Our elfin mirth
To Mother Earth
Lay down your ear.

A-many have come with their bright eyes clear,
And their young hearts pure, but—alas! Oh dear!
They’ve made a mistake in the day of the year.

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