Page:The Golden Threshold.djvu/47



, child, honey, child, whither are you going? Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing? Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you? Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?

Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going. Where upon the champa boughs the champa buds are blowing; To the köil-haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten. The voices of the fairy-folk are calling me: O listen!