Frederick George Scott




There lies a patch of fairyland
    In the centre of my mind
Where flowers bloom on every hand
    And winds are always kind;
Where silv’ry streams go softly by
    ’Neath many an arching tree,
And white clouds on the bluest sky
    Are mirrored in the sea.

And here are cities rich and rare,
    But never smoke nor din,

And in the mirth and laughter there,
    There is no trace of sin.
The streets are haunts of memories,
    The houses homes of dreams,
And sorrows there have dried their eyes
    And bathed in magic streams.

When I was young, my fairyland
    Seemed very strange and far—
An ebbing tide upon the strand,
    The flickering of a star.

I thought that it would melt away
    And vanish with the years,
That Time would cloud its perfect day
    And drench its fields with tears.

But now that years have flown I know

    My fairyland remains,
And all its flowers brighter grow
    In sun and silver rains.
The world outside is built on sand,
    Its bounds are narrowing fast,
So I will dwell in fairyland
    Securely to the last. [Page 74]