Old lame Bridget doesn't
Fairy music in the
When the gloaming's on the
And the shadow people pass:
Never hears their slow grey
Coming from the village
Just beyond the parson's wall,
Where the clover globes are
And the mushroom's
Opens in the moonlit rain.
Every night I hear them
From their long and merry train.
Old lame Bridget says to me,"It is just your fancy, child."She cannot believe I
Laughing faces in the wild,
Hands that twinkle in the
Bowing at the water's
Where the finny minnows quiver,
Shaping on a blue wave's
Bubble foam to sail the river.
And the sunny hands to
Beckon ever, beckon ever.
Oh!
I would be wild and free,
And with the shadow people be.
