My mother dandled me and sang,
ΒHow young it is, how young!Β
And made a golden cradle
That on a willow swung.
ΒHe went away,Β my mother sang,
ΒWhen I was brought to bed,Β
And all the while her needle pulled
The gold and silver thread.
She pulled the thread and bit the thread
And made a golden gown,
And wept because she had dreamt that I
Was born to wear a crown.
ΒWhen she was got,Β my mother sang,
ΒI heard a sea-mew cry,
And saw a flake of the yellow foam
That dropped upon my thigh.Β
How therefore could she help but braid
The gold into my hair,
And dream that I should carry
The golden top of care?
