Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/99



HE night comes fast, I hear the oxen chewing, The stars are very white and very little. My mother cries "Come, girl, spin off thy distaff."

Before I fill my pitcher I stoop to ask the water, Whether my face be fair, I know my eyes are shining, I see my lips are crimson, I hear my silver necklace Make music round my throat. But it is nothing to him, he cares not: The maize is golden in the sunshine, My hair is golden in the sunshine, He looks at the maize!

I have a keepsake, but not one that he gave me. A little flower, a withered flower, I wear it in my breast: