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...WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN [AUGUST 20, 1898] by GUY WETMORE CARRYL COMFORT [TO A YOUTH THAT HAD LOST HIS LOVE] by ROBERT HERRICK IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHILSEA by ALEXANDER POPE TO A FLOWER by CORRINNE M. ARTHUR THESEUS AND ARIADNE by FRANCIS BEAUMONT WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HANNAH MORE'S WORKS by ROBERT BURNS AT THE LANE'S END by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN |