Part II: The First Discovery

O, grown-ups cannot understandAnd grown-ups never will,How short's the way to fairy-landAcross the purple hill:They smile: their smile is very bland,Their eyes are wise and chill;And yet--at just a child's command--The world's an Eden still.

Under the cloudy lilac-tree,Out at the garden-gate,We stole, a little band of three,To tempt our fairy fate.There was no human eye to see,No voice to bid us wait;The gardener had gone home to tea,The hour was very late.

I wonder if you've ever dreamed,In summer's noonday sleep,Of what the thyme and heather seemedTo ladybirds that creepLike little crimson shimmering gemsBetween the tiny twisted stemsOf fairy forests deep;And what it looks like as they passThrough jungles of the golden grass.

If you could suddenly becomeAs small a thing as they,A midget-child, a new Tom Thumb,A little gauze-winged fay,Oh then, as through the mighty shadesOf wild thyme woods and violet gladesYou groped your forest-way,How fraught each fragrant bough would beWith dark o'erhanging mystery.

How high the forest aisles would loom,What wondrous wings would beatThrough gloamings loaded with perfumeIn many a rich retreat,While trees like purple censers bowedAnd swung beneath a swooning cloudMysteriously sweet,Where flowers that haunt no mortal climeBurden the Forest of Wild Thyme.

We'd watched the bats and beetles flitThrough sunset-coloured airThe night that we discovered itAnd all the heavens were bare:We'd seen the colours melt and passLike silent ghosts across the grassTo sleep--our hearts knew where;And so we rose, and hand in handWe sought the gates of fairy-land.

For Peterkin, oh Peterkin,The cry was in our ears,A fairy clamour, clear and thinFrom lands beyond the years;A wistful note, a dying fallAs of the fairy bugle-callSome dreamful changeling hears,And pines within his mortal homeOnce more through fairy-land to roam.

We left behind the pleasant rowOf cottage window-panes,The village inn's red-curtained glow,The lovers in the lanes;And stout of heart and strong of willWe climbed the purple perfumed hill,And hummed the sweet refrainsOf fairy tunes the tall thin manTaught us of old in Old Japan.

So by the tall wide-barred church-gateThrough which we all could passWe came to where that curious plate,That foolish plate of brass,Said Peterkin was fast asleepBeneath a cold and ugly heapOf earth and stones and grass.It was a splendid place for play,That churchyard, on a summer's day;

A splendid place for hide-and-seekBetween the grey old stones;Where even grown-ups used to speakIn awestruck whispering tones;And here and there the grass ran wildIn jungles for the creeping child,And there were elfin zonesOf twisted flowers and words in rhymeAnd great sweet cushions of wild thyme.

So in a wild thyme snuggery thereWe stayed awhile to rest;A bell was calling folk to prayer:One star was in the West:The cottage lights grew far away,The whole sky seemed to waver and swayAbove our fragrant nest;And from a distant dreamland moonOnce more we heard that fairy tune:

Why, mother once had sung it usWhen, ere we went to bed,She told the tale of Pyramus,How Thisbe found him deadAnd mourned his eyes as green as leeks,His cherry nose, his cowslip cheeks.

That tune would oft around us floatSince on a golden noonWe saw the play that Shakespeare wroteOf Lion, Wall, and Moon;Ah, hark--the ancient fairy theme--Following darkness like a dream!

The very song Will Shakespeare sang,The music that through Sherwood rangAnd Arden and that forest gladeWhere Hermie and Lysander strayed,And Puck cried out with impish glee,Lord, what fools these mortals be!Though the masquerade was muteOf Quince and Snout and Snug and Flute,And Bottom with his donkey's headDecked with roses, white and red,Though the fairies had forsakenSherwood now and faintly shakenThe forest-scents from off their feet,Yet from some divine retreatCame the music, sweet and clear,To hang upon the raptured earWith the free unfettered swayOf blossoms in the moon of May.Hark! the luscious flutteringOf flower-soft words that kiss and cling,And part again with sweet farewells,And rhyme and chime like fairy-bells.

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blowsWhere oxlips and the nodding violet grows,Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine."

Out of the undiscovered landSo sweetly rang the song,We dreamed we wandered, hand in hand,The fragrant aisles along,Where long ago had gone to dwellIn some enchanted distant dellThe outlawed fairy throngWhen out of Sherwood's wildest glenThey sank, forsaking mortal men.

And as we dreamed, the shadowy groundSeemed gradually to swell;And a strange forest rose around,But how--we could not tell--Purple against a rose-red skyThe big boughs brooded silently:Far off we heard a bell;And, suddenly, a great red lightSmouldered before our startled sight.

Then came a cry, a fiercer flash,And down between the treesWe saw great crimson figures crash,Wild-eyed monstrosities;Great dragon-shapes that breathed a flameFrom roaring nostrils as they came:We sank upon our knees;And looming o'er us, ten yards high,Like battle-ships they thundered by.

And then, as down that mighty dellWe followed, faint with fear,We understood the tolling bellThat called the monsters there;For right in front we saw a houseWoven of wild mysterious boughsBursting out everywhereIn crimson flames, and with a shoutThe monsters rushed to put it out.

And, in a flash, the truth was ours;And there we knew--we knew--The meaning of those trees like flowers,Those boughs of rose and blue,And from the world we'd left aboveA voice came crooning like a doveTo prove the dream was true:And this--we knew it by the rhymeMust be--the Forest of Wild Thyme.

For out of the mystical rose-red domeOf heaven the voice came murmuring down:Oh, Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home;Your house is on fire and your children are gone.

We knew, we knew it by the rhyme,Though we seemed, after all,No tinier, yet the sweet wild thymeTowered like a forest tallAll round us; oh, we knew not how.And yet--we knew those monsters now:Our dream's divine recallHad dwarfed us, as with magic words;The dragons were but ladybirds!

And all around us as we gazed,Half glad, half frightened, all amazed,The scented clouds of purple smokeIn lurid gleams of crimson broke;And o'er our heads the huge black treesObscured the sky's red mysteries;While here and there gigantic wingsBeat o'er us, and great scaly thingsFold over monstrous leathern foldOut of the smouldering copses rolled;And eyes like blood-red pits of flameFrom many a forest-cavern cameTo glare across the blazing glade,Till, with the sudden thought dismayed,We wondered if we e'er should findThe mortal home we left behind:Fear clutched us in a grisly grasp,We gave one wild and white-lipped gasp,Then turned and ran, with streaming hair,Away, away, and anywhere!

And hurry-skurry, heart and heel and hand, we tore along,And still our flying feet kept time and pattered on for Peterkin,For Peterkin, oh Peterkin, it made a kind of songTo prove the road was right although it seemed so dark and wrong,As through the desperate woods we plunged and ploughed for littlePeterkin,Where many a hidden jungle-beast made noises like a gongThat rolled and roared and rumbled as we rushed along to Peterkin.

Peterkin, Peterkin, if you could only hearAnd answer us, one little word from little lonely PeterkinTo take and comfort father, he is sitting in his chairIn the library: he's listening for your footstep on the stairAnd your patter down the passage, he can only think of Peterkin:Come back, come back to father, for to-day he'd let us tearHis newest book to make a paper-boat for little Peterkin.