Eyebright for letter E:
Where shall we look for him?
Bright eyes we’ll need to see
Someone so small as he.
Where is the nook for him?

Look on the hillside bare,
Nibbled by bunnies;
Harebells and thyme are there,
All in the open air
Where the great sun is.

There in the turf is he,
(No sheltered nook for him!)
Eyebright for letter E,
Saying, “Please, this is me!”
That’s where to look for him.

Fuchsia is a dancer
Dancing on her toes,
Clad in red and purple,
By a cottage wall;
Sometimes in a greenhouse,
In frilly white and rose,
Dressed in her best for the fairies’ evening ball!

“When gorse is out of blossom,”
(Its prickles bare of gold)
“Then kissing’s out of fashion,”
Said country-folk of old.
Now Gorse is in its glory
In May when skies are blue,
But when its time is over,
Whatever shall we do?

O dreary would the world be,
With everyone grown cold—
Forlorn as prickly bushes
Without their fairy gold!
But this will never happen:
At every time of year
You’ll find one bit of blossom—
A kiss from someone dear!

Have you pennies? I have many:
Each round leaf of mine’s a penny,
Two and two along the stem—
Such a business, counting them!
(While I talk, and while you listen,
Notice how the green leaves glisten,
Also every flower-cup:
Don’t I keep them polished up?)

Have you one name? I have many:
“Wandering Sailor”, “Creeping Jenny”,
“Money-wort”, and of the rest
“Strings of Sovereigns” is the best,
(That’s my yellow flowers, you see.)
“Meadow Runagates” is me,
And “Herb Twopence”. Tell me which
Show I stray, and show I’m rich?

I am Iris: I’m the daughter
Of the marshland and the water.
Looking down, I see the gleam
Of the clear and peaceful stream;
Water-lilies large and fair
With their leaves are floating there;
All the water-world I see,
And my own face smiles at me!

In heat of summer days
With sunshine all ablaze,
Here, here are cool green bowers,
Starry with Jasmine flowers;
Sweet-scented, like a dream
Of Fairyland they seem.

And when the long hot day
At length has worn away,
And twilight deepens, till
The darkness comes—then, still,
The glimmering Jasmine white
Gives fragrance to the night.

Golden King of marsh and swamp,
Reigning in your springtime pomp,
Hear the little elves you’ve found
Trespassing on royal ground:—

“Please, your Kingship, we were told
Of your shining cups of gold;
So we came here, just to see—
Not to rob your Majesty!”

Golden Kingcup, well I know
You will smile and let them go!
Yet let human folk beware
How they thieve and trespass there:

Kingcup-laden, they may lose
In the swamp their boots and shoes!

Gentle fairies, hush your singing:
Can you hear my white bells ringing,
Ringing as from far away?
Who can tell me what they say?

Little snowy bells out-springing
From the stem and softly ringing—
Tell they of a country where
Everything is good and fair?

Lovely, lovely things for L!
Lilac, Lavender as well;
And, more sweet than rhyming tells,
Lily-of-the-Valley’s bells.

I am Mallow; here sit I
Watching all the passers-by.
Though my leaves are torn and tattered,
Dust-besprinkled, mud-bespattered,
See, my seeds are fairy cheeses,
Freshest, finest, fairy cheeses!
These are what an elf will munch
For his supper or his lunch.

Fairy housewives, going down
To their busy market-town,
Hear me wheedling: “Lady, please,
Pretty lady, buy a cheese!”
And I never find it matters
That I’m nicknamed Rags-and-Tatters,
For they buy my fairy cheeses,
Freshest, finest, fairy cheeses!

Nasturtium the jolly,
O ho, O ho!
He holds up his brolly
Just so, just so!
(A shelter from showers,
A shade from the sun;)
’Mid flame-coloured flowers
He grins at the fun.

Up fences he scrambles,
Sing hey, sing hey!
All summer he rambles
So gay, so gay—
Till the night-frost strikes chilly,
And Autumn leaves fall,
And he’s gone, willy-nilly,
Umbrella and all.

The families of orchids,
they are the strangest clan,
With spots and twists resembling
a bee, or fly, or man;
And some are in the hot-house,
and some in foreign lands,
But Early Purple Orchis
in English pasture stands.

He loves the grassy hill-top,
he breathes the April air;
He knows the baby rabbits,
he knows the Easter hare,
The nesting of the skylarks,
the bleat of lambkins too,
The cowslips, and the rainbow,
the sunshine, and the dew.

O orchids of the hot-house,
what miles away you are!
O flaming tropic orchids,
how far, how very far!

Pansy and Petunia,
Periwinkle, Pink—
How to choose the best of them,
Leaving out the rest of them,
That is hard, I think.

Poppy with its pepper-pots,
Polyanthus, Pea—
Though I wouldn’t slight the rest,
Isn’t Pansy quite the best,
Quite the best for P?

Black and brown and velvety,
Purple, yellow, red;
Loved by people big and small,
All who plant and dig at all
In a garden bed.

Queen of the Meadow
where small streams are flowing,
What is your kingdom
and whom do you rule?
“Mine are the places
where wet grass is growing,
Mine are the people of marshland and pool.

“Kingfisher-courtiers,
swift-flashing, beautiful,
Dragon-flies, minnows,
are mine one and all;
Little frog-servants who
wait round me, dutiful,
Hop on my errands and come when I call.”

Gentle Queen Meadowsweet,
served with such loyalty,
Have you no crown then,
no jewels to wear?
“Nothing I need
for a sign of my royalty,
Nothing at all but my own fluffy hair!”

In wet marshy meadows
A tattered piper strays—
Ragged, ragged Robin;
On thin reeds he plays.

He asks for no payment;
He plays, for delight,
A tune for the fairies
To dance to, at night.

They nod and they whisper,
And say, looking wise,
“A princeling is Robin,
For all his disguise!”

A flower for S!
Is Sunflower he?
He’s handsome, yes,
But what of me?—

In my party suit
Of red and white,
And a gift of fruit
For the feast tonight:

Strawberries small
And wild and sweet,
For the Queen and all
Of her Court to eat!

Now will we tell of splendid things:
Seagulls, that sail on fearless wings
Where great cliffs tower, grand and high
Against the blue, blue summer sky.
Where none but birds (and sprites) can go.
Oh there the rosy sea-pinks grow,
(Sea-pinks, whose other name is Thrift);

They fill each crevice, chink, and rift
Where no one climbs; and at the top,
Too near the edge for sheep to crop,
Thick in the grass pink patches show.
The sea lies sparkling far below.
Oh lucky Thrift, to live so free
Between blue sky and bluer sea!

Poor little U
Has nothing to do!
He hasn’t a flower: not one.
For U is Unlucky, I’m sorry to tell;
U stands for Unfortunate, Ugly as well;
No single sweet flowery name will it spell—
Is there nothing at all to be done?

“Don’t fret, little neighbour,”
says kind fairy V,
“You’re welcome to share
all my flowers with me—
Come, play with them, laugh, and have fun.
I’ve Vetches in plenty for me and for you,
Verbena, Valerian, Violets too:
Don’t cry then, because you have none.”

Wallflower, Wallflower, up on the wall,
Who sowed your seed there?
“No one at all:
Long, long ago it was blown by the breeze
To the crannies of walls
where I live as I please.

“Garden walls, castle walls, mossy and old,
These are my dwellings;
from these I behold
The changes of years;
yet, each spring that goes by,
Unchanged in my sweet-smelling
velvet am I!”

You saucy X! You love to vex
Your next-door neighbour Y:
And just because no flower is yours,
You tease him on the sly.
Straight, yellow, tall,—of Nettles all,
The handsomest is his;
He thinks no ill, and wonders still
What all your mischief is.
Yet have a care! Bad imp, beware
His upraised hand and arm:
Though stingless, he comes leaping—see!—
To save his flower from harm.

Z for Zinnias, pink or red;
See them in the flower-bed,
Copper, orange, all aglow,
Making such a stately show.

I, their fairy, say Good-bye,
For the last of all am I.
Now the Alphabet is said
All the way from A to Z.