There once was a child in a garden,
Who loved all my colours of flame,
The crimson and scarlet and yellow—
But what was my name?
For Gaillardia’s hard to remember!
She looked at my yellow and red,
And thought of the gold and the glory
When the sun goes to bed;
And she troubled no more to remember,
But gave me a splendid new name;
She spoke of my flowers as Sunsets—
Then you do the same!
Red, red, vermilion red,
With buds and blooms in a glorious head!
There isn’t a flower, the wide world through,
That glows with a brighter scarlet hue.
Her name—Geranium—ev’ryone knows;
She’s just as happy wherever she grows,
In an earthen pot or a garden bed—
Red, red, vermilion red!
We were all of us scarlet, and counted as weeds,
When we grew in the fields with the corn;
Now, fall from your pepper-pots, wee little seeds,
And lovelier things shall be born!
You shall sleep in the soil, and awaken next year;
Your buds shall burst open; behold!
Soft-tinted and silken, shall petals appear,
And then into Poppies unfold—
Like daintiest ladies, who dance and are gay,
All frilly and pretty to see!
So I shake out the ripe little seeds, and I say:
“Go, sleep, and awaken like me!”
Early in the mornings,
when children still are sleeping,
Or late, late at night-time,
beneath the summer moon,
What are they doing,
the busy fairy people?
Could you creep to spy them,
in silent magic shoon,
You might learn a secret,
among the garden borders,
Something never guessed at,
that no one knows or thinks:
Snip, snip, snip, go busy fairy scissors,
Pinking out the edges
of the petals of the Pinks!
Pink Pinks, white Pinks,
double Pinks, and single,—
Look at them and see
if it’s not the truth I tell!
Why call them Pinks
if they weren’t pinked out by someone?
And what but fairy scissors
could pink them out so well?
Heliotrope’s my name; and why
People call me “Cherry Pie”,
That I really do not know;
But perhaps they call me so,
’Cause I give them such a treat,
Just like something nice to eat.
For my scent—O come and smell it!
How can words describe or tell it?
And my buds and flowers, see,
Soft and rich and velvety—
Deepest purple first, that fades
To the palest lilac shades.
Well-beloved, I know, am I—
Heliotrope, or Cherry Pie!
“Lavender’s blue, diddle diddle”—
So goes the song;
All round her bush, diddle diddle,
Butterflies throng;
(They love her well, diddle diddle,
So do the bees;)
While she herself, diddle diddle,
Sways in the breeze!
“Lavender’s blue, diddle diddle,
Lavender’s green”;
She’ll scent the clothes, diddle diddle,
Put away clean—
Clean from the wash, diddle diddle,
Hanky and sheet;
Lavender’s spikes, diddle diddle,
Make them all sweet!
Our stalks are very straight and tall,
Our colours clear and bright;
Too many-hued to name them all—
Red, yellow, pink, or white.
And some are splashed, and some, maybe,
As dark as any plum.
From tulip-fields across the sea
To England did we come.
We were a peaceful country’s pride,
And Holland is its name.
Now in your gardens we abide—
And aren’t you glad we came?
“Scilla, Scilla, tell me true,
Why are you so very blue?”
Oh, I really cannot say
Why I’m made this lovely way!
I might know, if I were wise.
Yet—I’ve heard of seas and skies,
Where the blue is deeper far
Than our skies of Springtime are.
P’r’aps I’m here to let you see
What that Summer blue will be.
When you see it, think of me!
Into the Dragon’s mouth he goes;
Never afraid is he!
There’s honey within for him, he knows,
Clever old Bumble Bee!
The mouth snaps tight; he is lost to sight—
How will he ever get out?
He’s doing it backwards—nimbly too,
Though he is somewhat stout!
Off to another mouth he goes;
Never a rest has he;
He must fill his honey-bag full, he knows—
Busy old Bumble Bee!
And Snapdragon’s name is only a game—
It isn’t as fierce as it sounds;
The Snapdragon elf is pleased as Punch
When Bumble comes on his rounds!
Brown bulbs were buried deep;
Now, from the kind old earth,
Out of the winter’s sleep,
Comes a new birth!
Flowers on stems that sway;
Flowers of snowy white;
Flowers as sweet as day,
After the night.
So does Narcissus bring
Tidings most glad and plain:
“Winter’s gone; here is Spring—
Easter again!”
If dicky-birds should buy and sell
In tiny markets, I can tell
The way they’d spend their money.
They’d ask the price of cherries sweet,
They’d choose the pinkest worms for meat,
And common Groundsel for a treat,
Though you might think it funny.
Love me not, or love me well;
That’s the way they’d buy and sell.
Through sun and rain, the country lane,
The field, the road, are my abode.
Though leaf and bud be splashed with mud,
Who cares? Not I!—I see the sky,
The kindly sun, the wayside fun
Of tramping folk who smoke and joke,
The bairns who heed my dusty weed
(No sting have I to make them cry),
And truth to tell, they love me well.
My brothers, White, and Yellow bright,
Are finer chaps than I, perhaps;
Who cares? Not I! So now good-bye.
Though I’m poor to human eyes
Really I am rich and wise.
Every tiny flower I shed
Leaves a heart-shaped purse instead.
In each purse is wealth indeed—
Every coin a living seed.
Sow the seed upon the earth—
Living plants shall spring to birth.
Silly people’s purses hold
Lifeless silver, clinking gold;
But you cannot grow a pound
From a farthing in the ground.
Money may become a curse:
Give me then my Shepherd’s Purse.
Delve into the magical world of Flower Fairies with this intricately illustrated colouring book.
With 45 stunning illustrations to colour, this enchanting colouring book is the perfect gift for any Flower Fairies fan.
See the rosy-berried Spindle
All to sunset colours turning,
Till the thicket seems to kindle,
Just as though the trees were burning.
While my berries split and show
Orange-coloured seeds aglow,
One by one my leaves must fall:
Soon the wind will take them all.
Soon must fairies shut their eyes
For the Winter’s hushabies;
But, before the Autumn goes,
Spindle turns to flame and rose!
This is where the little elves
Cuddle down to hide themselves;
Into fluffy beds they creep,
Say good-night, and go to sleep.
Here, on the dark and solemn Yew,
A marvel may be seen,
Where waxen berries, pink and new,
Appear amid the green.
I sit a-dreaming in the tree,
So old and yet so new;
One hundred years, or two, or three
Are little to the Yew.
I think of bygone centuries,
And seem to see anew
The archers face their enemies
With bended bows of Yew.
Fairies, when you lose your way,
From the dance returning,
In the darkest undergrowth
See my candles burning!
These shall make the pathway plain
Homeward to your beds again.
O, I am green in Winter-time,
When other trees are brown;
Of all the trees (So saith the rhyme)
The holly bears the crown.
December days are drawing near
When I shall come to town,
And carol-boys go singing clear
Of all the trees (O hush and hear!)
The holly bears the crown!
For who so well-beloved and merry
As the scarlet Holly Berry?
The wind is cold, the Spring seems long a-waking;
The woods are brown and bare;
Yet this is March: soon April will be making
All things most sweet and fair.
See, even now, in hedge and thicket tangled,
One brave and cheering sight:
The leafless branches of the Blackthorn, spangled
With starry blossoms white!
A tall, tall tree is the Pine tree,
With its trunk of bright red-brown—
The red of the merry squirrels
Who go scampering up and down.
There are cones on the tall, tall Pine tree,
With its needles sharp and green;
Small seeds in the cones are hidden,
And they ripen there unseen.
The elves play games with the squirrels
At the top of the tall, tall tree,
Throwing cones for the squirrels to nibble—
I wish I were there to see!
Have you seen the Box unclipped,
Never shaped and never snipped?
Often it’s a garden hedge,
Just a narrow little edge;
Or in funny shapes it’s cut,
And it’s very pretty; but—
But, unclipped, it is a tree,
Growing as it likes to be;
And it has its blossoms too;
Tiny buds, the Winter through,
Wait to open in the Spring
In a scented yellow ring.
And among its leaves there play
Little blue-tits, brisk and gay.
Safe across the moorland
Travellers may go,
If they heed our warning—
We’re the ones who know!
Let the footpath guide you—
You’ll be safely led;
There is bog beside you
Where you cannot tread!
Mind where you are going!
If you turn aside
Where you see us growing,
Trouble will betide.
Keep you to the path, then!
Hark to what we say!
Else, into the quagmire
You will surely stray.
You will not find him in the wood,
Nor in the country lane;
But in the city’s parks and streets
You’ll see the Plane.
O turn your eyes from pavements grey,
And look you up instead,
To where the Plane tree’s pretty balls
Hang overhead!
When he has shed his golden leaves,
His balls will yet remain,
To deck the tree until the Spring
Comes back again!
Wee little hooks on each brown little bur,
(Mind where you’re going, O Madam and Sir!)
How they will cling to your skirt-hem and stocking!
Hear how the Burdock is laughing and mocking:
Try to get rid of me, try as you will,
Shake me and scold me, I’ll stick to you still,
I’ll stick to you still!
All through the Summer my leaves were green,
But never a flower of mine was seen;
Now Summer is gone, that was so gay,
And my little green leaves are shed away.
In the grey of the year
What cheer, what cheer?
The Winter is come, the cold winds blow;
I shall feel the frost and the drifting snow;
But the sun can shine in December too,
And this is the time of my gift to you.
See here, see here,
My flowers appear!
The swallows have flown beyond the sea,
But friendly Robin, he stays with me;
And little Tom-Tit, so busy and small,
Hops where the jasmine is thick on the wall;
And we say: “Good cheer!
We’re here! We’re here!”
D-Miracle, a Japanese partner, have created a range of Porcelain Art Transfer Stickers featuring the Flower Fairies.
Decorating porcelain items is an increasingly popular hobby in Japan. Known as porcelain art, this handicraft involves transfering images on to porcelain and glass objects that are then fired to create personally unique items.
Now, sweet Flower Fairies porcelain art transfer stickers are available. The completed pieces make wonderful interior items and can even be used as tableware. Why not try your hand at creating your very own Flower Fairies porcelain art?
Here I dance in a dress like flames,
And laugh to think of my comical names.
Hoppetty hop, with nimble legs!
Some folks call me Bacon and Eggs!
While other people, it’s really true,
Tell me I’m Cuckoo’s Stockings too!
Over the hill I skip and prance;
I’m Lady’s Slipper, and so I dance,
Not like a lady, grand and proud,
But to the grasshoppers’ chirping loud.
My pods are shaped like a dicky’s toes:
That is what Bird’s-Foot Trefoil shows;
This is my name which grown-ups use,
But children may call me what they choose.
Oh, please, little children, take note of my name:
To call me a thistle is really a shame:
I’m harmless old Knapweed, who grows on the chalk,
I never will prick you when out for your walk.
Yet I should be sorry, yes, sorry indeed,
To cut your small fingers and cause them to bleed;
So bid me Good Morning when out for your walk,
And mind how you pull at my very tough stalk.
Among the harebells and the grass,
The grass all feathery with seed,
I dream, and see the people pass:
They pay me little heed.
And yet the children (so I think)
In spite of other flowers more dear,
Would miss my clusters white and pink,
If I should disappear.