Fairies by Laura E. Richards poem

Is it true, my mother?
Can it really be,
That the little fairies
Every day you see?
Oh! the little fairies,
Wonderful and wise,
Have you really seen them
With your own two eyes?

Tell me where their home is,
Dearest mother mine.
Is it in the garden
'Neath the clustering vine?
Is it in the meadow,
'Mid the grasses tall?
Is it by the brookside,
Sweetest place of all?

Deep within the woodland,
Shall I find them then,—
Pretty little maidens,
Pretty little men;
Curled among the roseleaves,
Stretched along the fern,
Where no wind can shake them,
And no sunbeams burn?

Does the little queen live
In a great red rose,
Twenty elves to fan her
When to sleep she goes;
Coverlet of lilies
Sprinkled o'er with pearls,
Golden stars a-twinkling
In her golden curls?

Do they paint the flowers?
Do they teach the birds
All their lovely music,
With its strange, sweet words?
Oh! but tell me, mother!
Is it really true?
And when next you seek them,
Will you take me too?

True it is, my darling,
True as true can be,
That the little fairies
Every day I see,
Not within the meadow,
Not in woodland gloom,
But in brightest sunshine,
In this very room.

Singing like the robin,
Chirping like the wren,
Pretty little maidens,
Pretty little men;
Leaning o'er my shoulder,
Swinging on my chair,
Oh! the little fairies,
I see them everywhere.

Peeping at the window,
Peeping at the door,
If I bid them scamper,
Peeping all the more.
Little sweetest voices
Laughing merrily,
Oh! the little fairies,
They'll never let me be.

Tugging at my apron,
Twitching at my gown,
Climbing up into my lap,
Rumble-tumbling down.
Naughty little blue eyes,
Full of impish glee,
Oh! the little fairies,
They'll never let me be!

All are kings and queens, dear,
Every smallest one;
And on mother's knee here
Is their regal throne.
Look into the glass, dear!
One of them you'll see.
Oh! the little fairies,
God bless them all for me!