Then I said, “O, lovely maiden, with this basket heavy laden, Tell me truly, I implore thee, from what parent-stock you grew? If your father is a humble, honest, labourer like the Bumble- Bee that works, but does not grumble at the work he has to do? Maiden did you ever grumble at the work you had to do?” Quoth the maid, “What’s that to you?” Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, For I felt a little angry, and thus said what wasn’t true: “Hark you, maid, my friend, Joe Simmen, says that all you washerwomen Are as sour as any lemon, cross as any _ole clo’_ Jew; Tell me maiden, is it not so, that you’re like some _ole clo’_ Jew?” Quoth the maid “What’s that to you?” Deep into that countenance peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Lest the girl should prove a vixen, and begin to hit me too; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only words there spoken were the whispered words, “Pooh! pooh!” These I whispered, for I feared her, whispered just the words, “Pooh! pooh!” And I knew not what to do. Round about myself then turning, all my soul within me burning, For I did not dare to face her, as she was I knew not who; I began at once to wonder how on earth I could thus blunder, And why I thus should cower under these her answering words so few, And I could not find a reason why her words should be so few; Still I knew not what to do. Then I glanced across my shoulder, as it were some sheltering boulder, And I saw the maiden laughing, laughing till her face was blue. Then I thought “’Tis now or never,” so I said (and thought it clever), “Pretty maiden, did you ever have a nice young sweetheart, who Was, as I am, tall and handsome? If so, prithee tell me who?” Quoth the maid “What’s that to you?” And the maiden, thus beguiling all my angry soul to smiling, Made me say, “Ah! lovely maiden, fairly I’m in love with you.” Then began my heart to flutter, and began my tongue to stutter, And began my lips to mutter, while around me objects flew. Thus I muttered, while the objects round about me swiftly flew, “Maiden, I’m in love with you.” But the maiden, sitting lonely on the velvet sod, spoke only These four words when I made of her some interrogation new; So upon the green grass sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what on earth I now should do, And I asked the washer maiden, what on earth I now should do? Quoth the maid “What pleases you.”