 Garden Fairies by Philip Bork Marston Read for LibriVox.org by Caitlyn Cooper December 30, 2007, in Covington, Louisiana Garden Fairies King was the air, the sky was very light Soft with shed snow, my garden was in white And walking there, I heard upon the night Sudden sound of little voices, just the prettiest of noises It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground Then swiftly seemed to Eddie round and round Till I said, tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies And all at once seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air Then a peel of silver laughter and such singing followed after As none of you, I think, have ever heard More soft it was than call of any bird Note after note exquisitely deferred Soft as dew drops when they settle In a fair flower's open petal What are these fairies, to myself, I said For answer then, as from a garden's bed On the cold air a sudden scent was shed Scent of lilies, scent of roses Scent of summer's sweetest posies Instead a small sweet voice within my ear We flowers that sleep through winter once a year Are by our flower queen sent to visit here That this fact may duly flout us Gardens can look fair without us A very little time we have to play And then must we go, oh, very far away And sleep again for many a long, long day Until the glad birds sing above us And the warm sun comes to love us Hark what the roses sing now as we go Then very sweet and soft and very low A dream of sound across the garden's snow Came the chime of roses singing To the lily bells faint ringing Roses song softly sinking through the snow To our winter rest we go Underneath the snow to house Till the birds be in the boughs And the boughs with leaves be fair And the sun shine everywhere Softly through the snow we settle Little snow drops press each petal Oh, the snow is kind and white Soft it is and very light Soon we shall be where no light is But where sleep is and where night is Sleep of every wind unshaken Till our summer bids awaken Then towards some far-off goal That singing drew, then altogether ceased More steely blue, the blue stars shone But in my spirit grew, hope of summer, Love of roses, certainly that sorrow closes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Garden Fairies by Philip Burke Marston Red for LibriVox.org by Clarica. Keen was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was and white, And walking there I heard upon the night Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound. It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed to eddy round and round, Till I said, tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there. White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peel of silver laughter And such singing followed after, As none of you I think have ever heard. More soft it was than call of any bird, Note after note exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle, In a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies to myself, I said? For answer then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, Scent of summers, sweetest posies, And set a small sweet voice within my ear. We flowers that sleep through winter, Once a year are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flower us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go, Then very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden's snow Came the chime of roses singing To the lily bells faint ringing. Roses song. Softly through the sinking snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sunshine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is. Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken. Then towards some far-off goal That singing drew, then altogether ceased, More steely blue the blue star shone, But in my spirit grew hope of summer, Love of roses, certainty that sorrow closes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Garden Furries by Philip Broke-Martison Read for LibriVox.org by Dario Cruz. New York January 2008 www.thecruzfamily.org Keen was the air, the sky was very light. Soft with the shed snow, my garden was and white. And walking there I heard upon the night The sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound. It seemed above me, it seemed upon the ground. Then swiftly seemed to Eddie round and round, Till I said, tonight the air is surely Full of garden furries. And all at once it seemed I grew aware, That little shining presences were there. White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air. Then a peel of silver laughter, And such singing followed after, As none of you, I think, have ever heard, More soft it was than the call of any bird. Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle, And a fair flower's open petal. What are these furries to myself I said? For answer then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, Scent of summer's sweetest posies, And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter once a year. Our Bayar flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go a very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go, Then very sweet and soft and very low. A dream of sound across the garden snow, Came the chime of the roses singing, To the lily bells faint ringing, roses song. Softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal, Oh the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light, Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is where night is, Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken, Then towards some far-off goal that singing drew, Then altogether ceased, more steely blue, The blue stars shone, but in my spirit grew, Hope of summer, love of roses. Certainly that sorrow closes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Garden Ferries by Philip Burke Marston. Read for LibriVox.org by JC Guan. Montreal, January 2008. Keen was the air, the sky was very light, Soft which sheds snow my garden was, And white, and walking there I heard upon the night, Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound, It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed too eddy round and round, Till I said, tonight the air is surely full of garden ferries, And all at once it seemed I'd grew aware That little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peal of silver laughter, And such a singing followed after. As none of you, I think, have ever heard, More soft it was than call of any bird. Note after note, exquisitely the bird, Soft as dew drops, And they settle in a fair flower's open petal. What are these ferries to myself I said? For answer then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, scent of summer's sweetest posies, And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter once a year Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, But this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go, Then, very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden's snow, Came the kind of roses singing, To the lily-bell's faint ringing. Roses song, Softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light, Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is, Sleep of every wind unshaken Till our summer bids us waken. Then, towards a far-off goal That singing grew, Then altogether ceased more steely blue, The blue stars shone but in my spirit grew, Hope of summer, love of roses, Certainty that sorrow closes. End of Poem. This recording is in the Public Domain. Garden Fairies by Philip Burke Marston Red for LibriVox.org by Katie Gibbany Arkansas December 2008 Keen was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was and white, And walking there I heard upon the night Sudden sound of little voices, just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound. It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed to eddy round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there. White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peal of silver laughter and such singing followed after, As none of you, I think, have ever heard. More soft it was than call of any bird, Note after note exquisitely deferred, soft as dew drops when they settle In a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies to myself, I said? Your answer, then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Sent of lilies, scent of roses, scent of summer's sweetest posies. And set a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers, that sleep through winter once a year Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go! Then very sweet and soft, and very low, A dream of sound across the garden snow Came the chime of roses singing To the lily bells faint ringing. Softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is, And where night is. Sleep of every wind unshaken Till our summer bids us waken. Then toward some far-off goal that singing drew, Then altogether ceased, More steely blue the blue stars shone. But in my spirit grew hope of summer, Love of roses, certainty that sorrow closes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Stephen Fairies by Philip Bork Marston, read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. Keen was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was and white, And walking there I heard upon the night, Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound. It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed to Eddie round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then appeal of silver laughter And such singing followed after as none of you, I think, have ever heard. More Soft it was than call of any bird. Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle and Their fair flowers open petal. What are these fairies, to myself I said? For answer, then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, Scent of summer's sweetest posies, And said a small, sweet voice within my ear. We flowers that sleep through winter, Once a year or by our flower queen sent to visit here, that this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then we must go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go. Then very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden snow, Came the chime of roses singing to the lily-bell's faint ringing. ROSES SONG Softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, To the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is. Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken. Then towards some far-off goal that singing drew, Then altogether ceased, More steely blue the blue stars shone, But in my spirit grew hope of summer, Love of roses, CERTAINTY THAT SORROW CLOSES. END OF POEM This recording is in the public domain. GARDEN FAIRIES By Philip Burke Marston Read for LibriVox.org by Mark Smith Keen was the air, The sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was, And white, And walking there I heard upon the night A sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound. It seemed above me, Seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed eddy round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peel of silver laughter, And such singing followed after, As none of you, I think, have ever heard. More soft it was than call of any bird. Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle In a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies, to myself I said? For answer, then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, scent of lilies, scent of roses, scent of summer's sweetest posies. And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers, that sleep through winter, Once a year are by our flower queen sent to visit here, But this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then we must go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us, Hark with the roses sing now as we go. Then, very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden's snow, Came the chime of roses singing To the lily-bell's faint ringing. Roses song. Softly sinking through the snow To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house Till the birds be in the boughs, In the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is, and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is, and where night is. Up of every wind unshaken Till our summer bids us waken. Then toward some far-off goal That singing drew, Then altogether ceased, More steely blue the blue stars shone, But in my spirit grew Hope of summer, love of roses, Certainty that sorrow closes. This recording is in the public domain. Garden Fairies by Philip Bork Marston, Read for Librevox.org by Stephanie Cain. Keen was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was, And white and walking there I heard upon the night Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound, It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed to eddy round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies, And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shiny presences were there. White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peel of silver laughter, And such singing followed after, As none of you, I think, have ever heard. More soft it was than call of any bird, Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops, When they settle in a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies, to myself, I said? For answer then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, Scent of summer's sweetest poses, And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter once a year By our flower queen sent to visit here, That, as fact, may dually flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then we must go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go! Then, with very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden's snow, Came the chime of roses, Singing to the lily-bell's faint ringing. Roses song, softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to how, till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs would leaves be fair, And the sunshine everywhere, Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal, Oh, the snow was kind and white, Soft it is and very light, Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is, Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken. Then, toward some far-off goal That singing drew, Then altogether ceased, More steely blue the blue stars shone, But in my spirit grew hope of summer, Love of roses, Certainly that sorrow closes. And walking there I heard upon the night, Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound, It seemed above me, Seemed upon the ground. Then swiftly seemed to Eddie round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peel of silver laughter and such singing followed after, As none of you I think have ever heard, More soft it was than the call of any bird, Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle In a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies, to myself I said? For an answer then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, scent of summer's sweetest posies, And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter once a year Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may Julie flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Park what the roses sing now as we go, Then very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden's snow, Came the chime of roses singing To the lily bells' faint ringing. Rose's song softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal, Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is. Sleep of every wind unshaken Till our summer bids us waken. Then towards some far-off gold at singing drew, Then altogether ceased more steely blue. The blue stars shone, but in my spirit grew, Hope of summer, love of roses, Certainty that sorrow closes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound. It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed to Eddie round and round, Till I said, tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes dense upon the air, Then a peel of silver laughter and such singing followed after. As none of you, I think, have ever heard, More soft it was than coal of any bird. Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle, In a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies? To myself I said. For answered then, as from a garden's bed, Under cold air a sudden scent was shed, Scent of lilies, scent of roses, scent of summer's sweetest poses, And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter, once a year, Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark, when the roses sing now as we go, Then very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across a garden's snow, Came the chime of roses singing, To the lily-bell's faint ringing. Roses song softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, Till the birds be in the bows, And the bows with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snowdrops press each pedal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is, Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken. Then towards some far-off goal That singing drew, Then altogether seized, more steely blue, The blue stars shone, But in my spirit grew, Hope of summer, love of roses, Certainty that sorrow closes. And walking there I heard upon the night, Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound, It seemed above me, Seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed eddy round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies. And all at once it seemed I grew aware, The little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peel of silver laughter, And such singing followed after, As none of you, I think, have ever heard. More soft it was than call of any bird, Note after note, exquisitely deferred, Soft as dewdrops when they settle, And a fair flower is open petal. What are these fairies to myself, I said? For answer then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed. Scent of lilies, scent of roses, Scent of summer's sweetest posies, And said a small, sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter once a year, Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go, Then very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden snow, Came the chime of roses singing, Till the lily bells faint ringing. Roses song, softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal, Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is, Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken. Then towards some far-off goal, That singing drew, then altogether ceased, More steely blue the blue star has shown, But in my spirit grew hope of summer, Love of roses, certainty that sorrow closes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The scene was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was and white, And walking there I heard upon the night, Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound, It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then swiftly seemed to Eddie round and round, Till I said, Tonight the air is surely full of garden fairies, And all at once it seemed I grew aware That little shining presences were there, White shapes and red shapes danced upon the air, Then a peal of silver laughter, And such singing followed after, As none of you, I think, have ever heard, More soft it was than call of any bird, Note after note exquisitely deferred, Soft as dew drops when they settle, In a fair flower's open petal. What are these fairies to myself, I said? For answer, then, as from a garden's bed, On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, A scent of lilies, scent of roses, A scent of summer's sweetest posies, And said a small sweet voice within my ear, We flowers that sleep through winter once a year, Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. A very little time we have to play, Then must we go, oh, very far away, And sleep again for many a long, long day, Till the glad birds sing above us, And the warm sun comes to love us. Hark what the roses sing now as we go, Then very sweet and soft and very low, A dream of sound across the garden snow, Came the chime of roses singing To the lily bells faint ringing. Roses song softly sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house, Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow drops press each petal, Oh, the snow is kind and white, Soft it is and very light. Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is and where night is. Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our summer bids us waken. Then towards some far-off goal that singing drew, Then altogether ceased more steely blue, The blue stars shone, But in my spirit grew hope of summer, Love of roses, certainty that sorrow closes.