I. There Are Faeries, Bright Of Eye, Who The Wildflowers' Warders Are: Ouphes, That Chase The Firefly; Elves, That Ride The Shooting-Star: Fays, Who In A Cobweb Lie, Swinging On A Moonbeam Bar; Or Who Harness Bumblebees, Grumbling On The Clover Leas, To A Blossom Or A Breeze That's Their Faery Car. If You Care, You Too May See There Are Faeries. Verily, There Are Faeries. Ii. There Are Faeries. I Could Swear I Have Seen Them Busy, Where Roses Loose Their Scented Hair, In The Moonlight Weaving, Weaving, Out Of Starlight And The Dew, Glinting Gown And Shimmering Shoe; Or, Within A Glowworm Lair, From The Dark Earth Slowly Heaving Mushrooms Whiter Than The Moon, On Whose Tops They Sit And Croon, With Their Grig-Like Mandolins, To Fair Faery Ladykins, Leaning From The Windowsill Of A Rose Or Daffodil, Listening To Their Serenade All Of Cricket-Music Made. Follow Me, Oh, Follow Me! Ho! Away To Faerie! Where Your Eyes Like Mine May See There Are Faeries. Verily, There Are Faeries. Iii. There Are Faeries. Elves That Swing In A Wild And Rainbow Ring Through The Air; Or Mount The Wing Of A Bat To Courier News To The Faery King And Queen: Fays, Who Stretch The Gossamers On Which Twilight Hangs The Dews; Who, Within The Moonlight Sheen, Whisper Dimly In The Ears Of The Flowers Words So Sweet That Their Hearts Are Turned To Musk And To Honey; Things That Beat In Their Veins Of Gold And Blue: Ouphes, That Shepherd Moths Of Dusk Soft Of Wing And Gray Of Hue Forth To Pasture On The Dew. Iv. There Are Faeries; Verily; Verily: For The Old Owl In The Tree, Hollow Tree, He Who Maketh Melody For Them Tripping Merrily, Told It Me. There Are Faeries. Verily, There Are Faeries.