A wistful questioning-- Merry with a rosy thrill of a dream come true. Just a little wisp of song played softly in the twilight, Such a happy little song--and oh, the dusk is gray! Such a joyous little song, and oh, the night is coming-- Coming with the bitter chill that marks the death of day! RETURN Now that the tumult of the war is over, The fairy folk are coming back to France; They push their way through tangled grass and clover, To find the ring where once they used to dance. They come half-wistfully, the little people, Through broken town, and battered market place, They come past shell-torn church with shattered steeple, They come as smiles come to a tear-stained face. They come with packs of dreams, with love and laughter, They com
