Rose Fyleman

And though you should live in a palace of gold, or sleep in a dried up ditch, You could never be as poor as the fairies are, and never as rich.

Blind folk see the fairies. Oh, better far than we, Who miss the shining of their wings Because our eyes are filled with things We do not wish to see. Deaf folk hear the fairies However soft their song; 'Tis we who lose the honey sound Amid the clamour all around That beats the whole day long.