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They make the green grass greener
where’er their footsteps fall, The wildest hind in the forest comes at their call. They steal from bolted linneys, they milk the key at grass, The maids are kissed a-milking, and no one hears them pass. |
They flit from byre to stable
and ride unbroken foals, They seek out human lovers to win them souls. The Pixies know no sorrow, the Pixies feel no fear, They take no care for harvest or seedtime of the year; |
Age lays no finger on them,
the reaper time goes by The Pixies, they who change not, nor grow old or die. The Pixies though they love us, behold us pass away, And are not sad for flowers they gathered yesterday, |