Dudas A Prisoner in Fairyland by Algernon Blackwood

We are the stars which sing. We sing with our light. We are the birds of fire. We fly across the heaven. Our light is a star. We make a road for Spirits, A road for the Great Spirit. Among us are three hunters Who chase a bear: There never was a time When they were not hunting; We look down on the mountains. This is the Song of the Mountains. "Red Indian" ("Algonquin") "Lyric". Translator, J. D. PRINCE.

'A star-story, please,' the boy repeated, cuddling up. They all drew, where possible, nearer. Their belief in their father's powers, rarely justified, was pathetic. Each time they felt sure he would make the adventures seem real, yet somehow he never quite did. They were aware that it was invention only. These things he told about he had not experienced himself. For they badly needed a leader, these children; and Daddy just missed filling the position. He was too 'clever,' his imagination neither wild nor silly enough, for children. And he felt it. He threw off rhymes and stories for them in a spirit of bravado rather an expression of disappointment. Yet there was passion in them too concealed. The public missed the heart he showed them in his books in the same way.