A fairy polished buttercups
One early Summer morn;
A skylark struggled thru his shell
He was there being born.

"Oh, dear," he cried, "What shall I do?
My house! It falls apart!"
All night long the cry had torn
His poor, wee skylark heart!

Crack! Crack! the shell kept breaking
Despair filled skylark's breast.
“Break thru, your house will fall on you!"
(Ah, soft and sheltered nest. . .)

The fairy wrung her tiny hands
And bowed her golden head;
She rocked with grief for skylark
And all earth's needless dread.

“Dear me," said she,
“How sad 'twould be
If mortals knew
That all this dew
Is fairies' tears
For them! poor dears,
They do not know
Our secrets, so
Their hearts still ache—
And sometimes break ...
We try to tell
Them all is well,
But they won't heed,
Tho long we plead.
So all thru the night
In pale starlight
We sigh and cry
'Oh my! Oh my!' "

And then a crash! The fairy
Danced 'round in wildest glee!
Poor skylark, spent, bewildered
Was dying, so tho't he!

The fairy touched him shyly;
"You think you've reached the end—
But you are just beginning,
My funny little friend!"

"Then why did you not tell me?"
He raised his tiny head;
"You wouldn't have believed me!"
That's what the fairy said.

So often do beginnings
Come in on silver wings
When we have struggled thru the night
And reached the end of things!