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written by Walter de la Mare
Songs of Childhood (1902) Link to further information

   Ye little elves, who haunt sweet dells,
    Where flowers with the dew commune,
    I pray you hush the child, Cecil,
        With windlike song.

    O little elves, so white she lieth,
    Each eyelid gentler than the flow'r
    Of the bramble, and her fleecy hair
        Like smoke of gold.

    O little elves, her hands and feet
    The angels muse upon, and God
    Hath shut a glimpse of Paradise
        In each blue eye.

    O little elves, her tiny body
    Like a white flake of snow it is,
    Drooping upon the pale green hood
        Of the chill snowdrop.

    O little elves, with elderflower,
    And pimpernel, and the white hawthorn,
    Sprinkle the journey of her dreams:
        And, little elves,

    Call to her magically sweet,
    Lest of her very tenderness
    She do forsake this rough brown earth
        And return to us no more.

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