The Wonderful Fairies of the Sun/The Dream Fairies
“And while you are sleeping they climb up and squat
In a row on the foot of your bed.”
THE DREAM FAIRIES.
THE Fairies from Dreamland are queer little folks;
Quite different from all of the rest.
If you saw them you’d laugh at their comical ways,
And you’d smile just to see how they’re dressed;
For they wear any clothes they can possibly get,
Odd coats, vests, or what they can catch
When the wealthier Fairies throw old things away:
So, naturally, none of them match.
Then, dressed in this style, they arrive in the night,
When the stars keep their guard overhead;
And while you are sleeping, they climb up and squat
In a row on the foot of your bed.
They all sit cross-legged, and giggle and grin,
And eagerly wait for their King,
Who presently comes, with your dream in a box,
Tied up with an old knotted string.
“And while it is working, they dance.”
He gently unfastens it, lifts off the lid,
And sets the dream out on the bed.
Then, after they’ve brushed it and dusted it off,
They place it up close to your head.
The King takes the key, and he winds up the dream;
And while it is working, they dance
With the King in the middle, “all hands around,”
Till the end of the beautiful trance.
Sometimes he has trouble untying the knots,
And tries to undo them too quick,
When of course he gets mad, throws the box on the floor,
And bursts in its sides with a kick.
Now the dream, though a pretty one when it was packed,
Is all dented or cracked, he will find.
Which has spoiled all its beauty, and therefore you’ll have
A nightmare of horriblest kind.
He ties it together, climbs up on the bed,
And props up the dream on your breast,
Then sits on your stomach, and he and the Gnomes
Await the outcome of the test.
They say not a word, but whenever you move
They look at each other and grin,
While the King, like a statue, keeps still and looks wise,
And strokes the lone beard on his chin.
“For they scamper in forty directions at once
When they think you’re about to awake.”
But if it should happen the dream was all smashed
Till nothing but fragments were found,
You will have such a nightmare you’ll holler out loud;
And my! don’t the Gnomes hop around!
They tickle each other and wiggle their heads,
And a comical picture they make;
For they scamper in forty directions at once
When they think you’re about to awake.
Quite often it happens the box will contain
A mixture of several kinds;
And when it is opened they’re all in a muss,
So the King takes the first dream he finds,
While the Gnomes take the others, and all round your head
They are placed in a circular row;
But in cases like this there is no time to dance:
They must keep them all wound up, you know.
How funny it is when it happens like that!
One goblin will grind out his dreams,
But another commences before he leaves off,
And they both grind at once, till it seems
Like a queer panorama inside of your head
(For the rest are all grinding as well);
And if, the next morning, you’re asked what you dreamed.
You will find you’re too mixed up to tell.