Fairy Poems

Popular Fairy Poems
Courage
by Robert William Service

Today I opened wide my eyes,
And stared with wonder and surprise,
To see beneath November skies
An apple blossom peer;
Upon a branch as bleak as night
It gleamed exultant on my sight,
A fairy beacon burning bright
Of hope and cheer.

'Alas! ' said I, 'poor foolish thing,

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Altarwise By Owl-Light
by Dylan Thomas

Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
The gentleman lay graveward with his furies;
Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam,
And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies,
The atlas-eater with a jaw for news,
Bit out the mandrake with to-morrows scream.
Then, penny-eyed, that gentlemen of wounds,
Old cock from nowheres and the heaven's egg,
With bones unbuttoned to the half-way winds,
Hatched from the windy salvage on one leg,

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Green Rain
by Mary Webb

Into the scented woods we'll go,
And see the blackthorn swim in snow.
High above, in the budding leaves,
A brooding dove awakes and grieves;
The glades with mingled music stir,
And wildly laughs the woodpecker.
When blackthorn petals pearl the breeze,
There are the twisted hawthorne trees
Thick-set with buds, as clear and pale
As golden water or green hail-

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Song Of The Foot Track
by Elsie Cole

COME away, come away from the straightness of the road;
I will lead you into delicate recesses
Where peals of ripples ring through the maidenhair’s abode
In the heart of little water wildernesses.

I will show you pleasant places; tawny hills the sun has kissed,
Where the giant trees the wind is always swinging
Rise from clouds of pearly saplings tipped with rose and amethyst,—
Fairy boughs where fairy butterflies are clinging.


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To Mary Pickford
by Vachel Lindsay

MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS

(On hearing she was leaving the moving-pictures for the stage.)
Mary Pickford, doll divine,
Year by year, and every day
At the movmg-picture play,
You have been my valentine.

Once a free-limbed page in hose,
Baby-Rosalind in flower,

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Recent Fairy Poems
Divine Red Overdose
by Jayesh Goyal

The scent of desires and splashes of passion, a mix of effervescence with flames of fire, she glows like the silver rays of the moon
With wet lips as pen and her femininity as canvas, I seem helpless to describe the lady draped in a red saree
Adorned with delicate silver filigree earrings and the fine necklace swinging slowly, kissing her neck, arousing bubbles of jealousy in me
Eyes, beautiful as interstellar explosions, the left full of passionate wants and the other shy of my furtive gaze
Her stifling eyes speak of impetuous thoughts, combine as one, passions and lust
I hear my name unspoken in her warm untiring gaze - her mounds of pleasure inviting the baby in me to satiate his hunger
Her aromatic oxters were the wild storm in the forest of dreams, as she hypnotized me with her careless lips
Pressing kisses taste of our heaving needs, awakening wild passion within me
Her savage neckline took my breath away, the graceful claws pulled my sinful thoughts into her femininity - the delicious sparks tempting my startled masculinity
Like a teenaged butterfly she danced freely - gliding effortlessly beneath the sinful sheets like a mystical serpent

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Snow Song
by Sara Teasdale

Fairy snow, fairy snow,
Blowing, blowing everywhere,
Would that I
Too, could fly
Lightly, lightly through the air.

Like a wee, crystal star
I should drift, I should blow
Near, more near,
To my dear

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A Golden Day
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The subtle beauty of this day
Hangs o'er me like a fairy spell,
And care and grief have flown away,
And every breeze sings, "all is well."
I ask, "Holds earth or sin, or woe?"
My heart replies, "I do not know."

Nay! all we know, or feel, my heart,
Today is joy undimmed, complete;
In tears or pain we have no part;

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The Old Wooden Cradle
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside.
No more to its motion o’er sleep’s fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide.

No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker,
Their sweet dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging –
The child of this era is put into bed.


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The Wild Blue-Bells
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Came a bouquet from the city,
Fragrant, rich and debonair -
Sweet carnation and geraniium,
Heliotrope and roses rare.

Down beside the crystal river,
Where the moss-grown rocks are high,
And the ferns, from niche and crevice,
Stretch to greet the azure sky;


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