{"id":209,"date":"2013-03-24T10:55:05","date_gmt":"2013-03-24T17:55:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stickpersonpoetry.com\/spp\/?p=209"},"modified":"2020-07-31T15:47:49","modified_gmt":"2020-07-31T22:47:49","slug":"0324","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stickpersonpoetry.com\/spp\/2013\/03\/24\/0324\/","title":{"rendered":"0324"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

0324
\nI’m wearing me green jacket<\/p>\n

The Fairies<\/strong>
\nby William Allingham<\/p>\n

Up the airy mountain
\nDown the rushy glen,
\nWe dare n’t go a-hunting,
\nFor fear of little men;
\nWee folk, good folk,
\nTrooping all together;
\nGreen jacket, red cap,
\nAnd white owl’s feather.
\nDown along the rocky shore
\nSome make their home,
\nThey live on crispy pancakes
\nOf yellow tide-foam;
\nSome in the reeds
\nOf the black mountain-lake,
\nWith frogs for their watch-dogs,
\nAll night awake.
\nHigh on the hill-top
\nThe old King sits;
\nHe is now so old and gray
\nHe’s nigh lost his wits.
\nWith a bridge of white mist
\nColumbkill he crosses,
\nOn his stately journeys
\nFrom Slieveleague to Rosses;
\nOr going up with music,
\nOn cold starry nights,
\nTo sup with the Queen,
\nOf the gay Northern Lights.
\nThey stole little Bridget
\nFor seven years long;
\nWhen she came down again
\nHer friends were all gone.
\nThey took her lightly back
\nBetween the night and morrow;
\nThey thought she was fast asleep,
\nBut she was dead with sorrow.
\nThey have kept her ever since
\nDeep within the lake,
\nOn a bed of flag leaves,
\nWatching till she wake.
\nBy the craggy hill-side,
\nThrough the mosses bare,
\nThey have planted thorn trees
\nFor pleasure here and there.
\nIs any man so daring
\nAs dig them up in spite?
\nHe shall find the thornies set
\nIn his bed at night.
\nUp the airy mountain
\nDown the rushy glen,
\nWe dare n’t go a-hunting,
\nFor fear of little men;
\nWee folk, good folk,
\nTrooping all together;
\nGreen jacket, red cap,
\nAnd white owl’s feather.<\/p>\n