A little Fairy in a tree
	Wrinkled his wee face at me;
	And he sang a song of joy
	All about a little boy,
	Who upon a winter night,
	On a midnight long ago,
	Had een rapt away from sight
	Of the world and all its woe;
	    Rapt away,
	    Snapt away,
	To a place where children play
	In the sunlight all the day.
	
	Where the winter is forbidden,
	Where no child may older grow,
	Where a flower is never hidden
	Underneath a pall of snow;
	Dancing gaily,
	Free from sorrow,
	Under dancing summer skies,
	Where no grim mysterious morrow
	Ever comes to terrorize.
	
	This I told a priest and he
	Spoke a word of mystery;
	And with candle, ook and bell,
	Tolling Latin like a knell
	    Ruthlessly,
	    From the tree,
	Sprinkling holy water round,
	He drove the Fairy down to hell,
	There in torment to be bound.
	
	So the tree is withered and
	There is sorrow on the land:
	ut the devils milder grow
    	    Dancing gay
    	    Every day
	In that kinder land below:
	There the devils dance for joy
	And love that little wrinkled boy.

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