In vain we broider cap and cloak, and fold The long robe, white and rare;In vain we serve on dishes of red gold, Perhaps, the rich man's fare;In vain we bid the fabled folk who bring All gifts the world holds sweet:This one, forsooth, shall give the child to sing; To move like music this shall charm its feet; This help the cheek to blush, the heart to beat.
Unto the christening there shall surely come The Uninvited Guest,The evil mother, weird and wise, with some Sad purpose in her breast.Yea and though every spinning-wheel be stilled In all the country round,Behold, her prophecy must be fulfilled; The turret with the spindle will be found, And the white hand will reach and take the wound.
