Come, follow, follow me, you fairy elves that be,
Which circle on the green, Come Follow Mab, your queen,
Hand in hand let's dance around, for this place is fairy ground.
When Mortals are at rest, and snoring in their nest,
Unheard and unespied, through keyholes we do glide;
Over tables, stools and shelves, we trip it with our fairy elves.
Upon a mushroom's head our tablecloth we spread;
A grain of rye or wheat, is manchet which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink, in acorn cups, filled to the brink.
The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, serve for our minstrelsy;
Grace said, wedanced awhile, and so the time beguile;
And if the moon doth hide her head, the glow-worm lights us home to bed
On tops of dewy grass so nuimbly do we pass,
The Young and tender stalk, never bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen, where we the night before, have been
Only three days before Midsummer...stay tuned ..there's magic in the air...
Art ~Gustave Dore.