and the Bletherwitch
Or ask the golden sun:
Though ever you will be at fault
Before your task is done.
It is not in the flow’rs;
It is not in the chime of bells,
Nor in the waking hours.
It is not in the
brain, Nor in the busy mart;
It lives not with the false and vain,
But in the tender heart.
As mysteriously as they had appeared, the fairies vanished again, and only the rustling of the leaves and the twittering of the birds making melody all around, reminded the children that they were on enchanted ground. Now and then the bull-frogs would set up a croaking chorus in some marshy land far behind, but as no one could distinguish what they said it did not matter.