Little Bunny Foo Foo hoppin' through the forest, scoopin' up the field mice and boppin' em on the head. And down came the Blue Fairy, and she said: Little Bunny Foo Foo I don't want to see you scoopin' up the field mice and boppin' em on the head. And now I'll give you three chances, and if you keep it up, I'll turn you into a goon. Little Bunny Foo Foo kept hoppin' through the forest, kept scoopin' up the field mice and boppin' em on the head. And down came the Blue Fairy, and she said: Little Bunny
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I’m much too big for a fairy, And much too small for a man, But this is true: Whatever I do, I do it the best I can. Leroy F. Jackson
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Moon, O Moon in the empty sky, Why do you swing so low? Pretty moon with the silver ring And the long bright beams where the fairies cling, Where do you always go? I go to the land of the Siamese, Ceylon and the Great Plateau, Over the seas where Sinbad sailed, Where Moses crossed and Pharaoh failed,-- There's where I always go. Leroy F. Jackson
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Come to the land where the babies grow, Like flowers in the green, green grass. Tiny babes that swing and crow Whenever the warm winds pass, And laugh at their own bright eyes aglow In a fairy looking-glass. Come to the sea where the babies sail In ships of shining pearl, Borne to the west by a golden gale Of sun-beams all awhirl; And perhaps a baby brother will sail To you, my little girl. Leroy F. Jackson
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All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse, Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames -- These must all be fairy names! Tiny woods below whose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb! Fair are grown-up people's trees, But the fairest woods are these; Where, if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all. Robert Louis Stevenson
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Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad in foreign lands. I saw the next door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant places more That I had never seen before. I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky's blue looking-glass; The dusty roads go up and down With people tramping in to town. If I could find a higher tree Farther and farther I should see, To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships, To
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Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy bread to eat. Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom And the shade of pine; And when you have eaten well, Fairy stories hear and tell. Robert Louis Stevenson
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Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle All through the meadows the horses and cattle: All of the sights of the hill and the plain Fly as thick as driving rain; And ever again, in the wink of an eye, Painted stations whistle by. Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, All by himself and gathering brambles; Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; And here is the green for stringing the daisies! Here is a cart runaway in the road Lumping along with man
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Where are you going, sister Kate? I’m going to swing on the garden gate, And watch the fairy gypsies dance Their tim-tam-tum on the cabbage-plants— The great big one with the purple nose, And the tiny tad with the pinky toes. Where are you going, brother Ben? I’m going to build a tiger-pen. I’ll get iron and steel and ’lectric wire And build it a hundred feet, or higher, And put ten tigers in it too, And a big wildcat, and—mebbe—you. Where are you going, mother mine? I’m going to sit by the old grapevine, And watch the gliding swallow
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