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The field is red with poppy flowers, Where mushroom meadows stand ;
It's only seven fairy hours From there to Fairyland.
Now when the star-shells riot up
In flares of red and green, Each fairy leaves her buttercup
And goes to see her queen.
Where little, ghostly moonbeams stray
Through mushroom alleys white,
The fairies carry on their way
A glow-worm lamp for light. 48