Cradle-Songs of Goldilocks
Sift the golden barley.
From his horse a lion's hide
Hangs. A thought yon star is.
And the soldier in his pride
Envoy from afar is.
Dream-sylphs, though, that hovered
Pluck the barb from out the breast
Which thin veils had covered
Vainly when the spear was pressed.
From his horse a lion's hide
Hangs. A thought yon star is.
And the soldier in his pride
Envoy from afar is.
Dream-sylphs, though, that hovered
Pluck the barb from out the breast
Which thin veils had covered
Vainly when the spear was pressed.
Sift the golden barley.
Stained with blood, the tender
Maidens bend the spear of thought,
Till upon their slender
Knees to rosy harps 'tis wrought.
Of the star-beams featly
Next they spin the strings, and aye
Through his lifetime sweetly
Unto Goldilocks will play.
Stained with blood, the tender
Maidens bend the spear of thought,
Till upon their slender
Knees to rosy harps 'tis wrought.
Of the star-beams featly
Next they spin the strings, and aye
Through his lifetime sweetly
Unto Goldilocks will play.
IV.
May east or may west the great castle be spied
Where no one is watching or dwelling?
The grumbling rain in a foamy gray tide
From the rusty roof-spouts is welling.
Now, weather-cock, turn in the wind and hark
What the rain-spouts sing as the day grows dark.—
"Hoohoo!" comes his crow out-swelling.
May east or may west the great castle be spied
Where no one is watching or dwelling?
The grumbling rain in a foamy gray tide
From the rusty roof-spouts is welling.
Now, weather-cock, turn in the wind and hark
What the rain-spouts sing as the day grows dark.—
"Hoohoo!" comes his crow out-swelling.
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