Frances Sargent Osgood - A Wreath of Wild Flowers from New England (1838)

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Did you ever hear
Of the frolic fairies dear?
They're a blessed little race,
Peeping up in fancy's face,
In the valley, on the hill,
By the fountain and the rill;
Laughing out between the leaves
That the loving summer weaves.

Frances Sargent Osgood