The faeries’ lament

Time was, you saw our mischief in all things
And wound yourselves around with ancient charms
To keep us from your cradles, stables, farms
And houses. You attributed the rings
Of mushrooms in your meadows to us, too;
A broken cup, soured milk – we got the blame,
And yet you dared not speak of us by name
For dread of other dark deeds we might do.
Now Oberon has lost his crown, it seems;
All is explained and known; no mystery
Attends mishaps of home or husbandry,
And we live only in midsummer dreams.
The faerie realm is fading with the years.
Soon we shall all be gone. But not your fears.

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