Queen Mab

A little fairy comes at night,
— Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,
— And from the moon she flutters down.

She has a little silver wand,
— And when a good child goes to bed
She waves her hand from right to left,
— And makes a circle round its head.

And then it dreams of pleasant things,
— Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit,
— And bow their branches at a wish:

Of arbors filled with dainty scents
— From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
— And glow-worms shining in the shade:

And talking birds with gifted tongues,
— For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
— Through fairy hills and fairy dales.

But when a bad child goes to bed,
— From left to right she weaves her rings,
And then it dreams all through the night
— Of only ugly horrid things!

Then lions come with glaring eyes,
— And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,
And ogres draw their cruel knives,
— To shed the blood of girls and boys.

Then stormy waves rush on to drown,
— Or raging flames come scorching round,
Fierce dragons hover in the air,
— And serpents crawl along the ground.

Then wicked children wake and weep,
— And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
— The night as pleasant as the day.
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