Maiden-poet, come with me
To the heaped up cairn of Maeve,
And there we'll dance a fairy dance
Upon a fairy's grave.
In and out among the trees,
Filling all the night with sound,
The morning, strung upon her star,
Shall chase us round and round.
What are we but fairies too,
Living but in dreams alone,
Or, at the most, but children still,
Innocent and overgrown?
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Comments about this poem (Fairies by cheyenne mccartney )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(22 March 1941 -)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
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- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- The Solitary Reaper, William Wordsworth
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
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