It is a phantom child which comes Soft through the corridor, Singing an old forgotten song, This ancient burden bore:-- "Thorn, thorn, I wis, And roses twain, A red rose and a white, Stoop in the blossom, bee, and kiss A lonely child good-night. "Swim fish, sing bird, And sigh again, I that am lost am lone, Bee in the blossom never stirred Locks hid beneath a stone!"-- Her eye was of the azure fire That hovers in wintry flame; Her raiment wild and yellow as furze That spouteth out the same; And in her hand she bore no flower, But on her head a wreath Of faded flowers that did yet Smell sweetly after death.... Gloomy with night the listening walls Are now that she is gone, Albeit this solitary child No longer seems alone. Fast though her taper dwindles down, Heavy and thick the tome, A beauty beyond fear to dim Haunts now her alien home. Ghosts in the world, malignant, grim, Vex many a wood and glen, And house and pool--the unquiet ghosts, Of dead and restless men. But in her grannie's house this spirit-- A child as lone as she-- Pining for love not found on earth, Ann dreams again to see. Seated upon her tapestry stool, Her fairy-book laid by, She gazes into the fire, knowing She has sweet company. THE MILLER AND HIS SON A twangling harp for Mary, A silvery flute for John, And now we'll play, the livelong day, "The Miller and his Son."... "The Miller went a-walking All in the forest high, He sees three doves a-flitting Against the dark blue sky: "Says he, 'My son, now follow These doves so white and free, That cry above the forest, And surely cry to thee.' "'I go, my dearest Father, But O! I sadly fear, These doves so white will lead me far, But never bring me near.' "He kisses the Miller, He cries, 'Awhoop to ye!' And straightway through the forest Follows the wood-doves three. "There came a sound of weeping To the Miller in his Mill: Red roses in a thicket Bloomed over near his wheel; "Three stars shone wild and brightly Above the forest dim: But never his dearest son Returns again to him. "The cuckoo shall call 'Cuckoo!' In vain along the vale-- The linnet, and the blackbird, The mournful nightingale; "The Miller hears and sees not, Thinking of his son; His toppling wheel is silent; His grinding done. "'You doves so white,' he weepeth, 'You roses on the tree, You stars that shine so brightly, You shine in vain for me! "'I bade him follow, follow!' He said, 'O Father dear, These doves so white will lead me far But never bring me near.'"... A twangling harp for Mary, A silvery flute for John, And now we'll play, the livelong day, "The Miller and his Son." DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY Down-adown-derry, Sweet Annie Maroon, Gathering daisies In the meadows of Doone, Hears a shrill piping, Elflike and free, Where the waters go brawling In rills to the sea; Singing down-adown-derry.