Fairy Song

We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of Dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us,

Stolen sweets are always sweeter;
Stolen kisses much completer;
Stolen looks are nice in chapels;
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time to go orchard robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

by Thomas Randolph

Comments (1)

I believe that this is not the original by Randolph but a translation by James Leigh Hunt of a Latin poem by Randolph. The constraints of translation may explain the uncomfortable first verse, somewhat reminiscent of William Topaz McGonagall. Does anyone have the original?