A Birthday Poem by William Bell Scott

(THE HUSBAND SPEAKS.)

Is this indeed All-Hallow's day,
When fairies hold their annual play?
As out of school like bees they fly,
I hear the village children cry
Upon the faery folk, brown, red,
Pink, green and blue, to go to bed.
All the faeries that were seen
At dawn upon the parson's green.
Then, dear, this is your natal day,
They may be more than usual gay
In their traditional array.
But sad to say,
I have no gift to bring to you,
I had forgot this best of days
Until I heard the children's lays!
But then 'tis true,
Being yours, it is my birth-day too,
My second birth—this best of days.