It is here, in the tangles of branches and softness of moss where most secretive of the Faerie live. Many things may lie in the turn of the path. Perhaps a cottage awaits where a wise woman will teach you the secrets of her garden. Or perhaps you will find a maiden enclosed within a coffin of glass, waiting in stillness for the touch of lips upon her own. Or perhaps you will find a castle surrounded by briar. It is within the forest that many adventures of Faerie begin. The strange mists that filter through the stillness often form into vague shapes of beasts and monsters, confusing and frightening the mortal traveler. This place is a place of illusions, of voices and sounds and seeings that will try to take the traveler from off her path, lead her into the forest, and make her forever lost within. Perhaps she will remember to gather pebbles to drop behind her as she investigates the strange and beautiful music that floats through the air with the mist.
(author unknown to me)

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

The Flowers

All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things,
Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees for tiny dames--
These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where, if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all

By Robert Louis Stevenson

5 comments:

Bimbimbie said...

Sweet*!* The blossom fairies are still pruning our gum trees *!*

Anonymous said...

That is such a lovely poem, thank you very much for sharing ; )

Ruth said...

Strange - I just wrote a poem on my blog about a magical path that Gill and I walked down today. I'm sure there are fairies there - go and have a look at the photos!

smilnsigh said...

Precious poem. And equally precious illustration.

Hugs,
Mari-Nanci
Smilnsigh blog

Annie Jeffries said...

Such a sweet poem. Stevenson's range truly amazes me.