Patrick, our garden man, knows all the fairy-folk, Hears little pipes when the elves hold a dance; Speaks of the brownies whose work makes the flowers grow, Tells how he saw some, one morning, by chance. Mother says Irishmen frequently say such things, -- Not to believe him, but just to enjoy; How can I doubt him when only this morning I Saw with my own eyes a wee elfin boy? Up in the sky he was, holding a mushroom stem, Just like a silver umbrella it seemed; Slowly it bore him away past the garden-hedge -- ...Can I believe that we've both of us dreamed? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAY IS DONE by PHOEBE CARY MY AUNT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES MY LITTLE GIRL by SAMUEL MINTURN PECK ADAM'S CURSE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO DR. PRIESTLEY. DEC. 29, 1792 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 38 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |