"From our milk the little people Steal the cream and all the best; Then they leave the dish uncovered, And our cat drinks up the rest. "And the cat's a witch, I'm certain, For by night, when storms arise, Oft she seeks the haunted hill-top Where the fallen tower lies. "There was once a splendid castle. Home of joy and weapons bright, Where there swept in stately pageant Lady, page, and armèd knight. "But a sorceress charmed the castle, With its lords and ladies fair; Now it is a lonely ruin, And the owls are nesting there. "But my aunt hath often told me, Could I speak the proper word, In the proper place up yonder, When the proper hour occurred, "I should see the ruins changing Swiftly to a castle bright, And again in stately dances Dame and page and gallant knight. "He who speaks the word of power Wins the castle for his own, And the knight with drum and trumpet Loud will hail him lord alone." So the simple fairy pictures From the little rose-mouth bloom, And the gentle eyes are shedding Star-blue lustre through the gloom. Round my hand the little maiden Winds her gold locks as she will, Gives a name to every finger, Kisses, smiles, and then is still. All things in the silent chamber, Seem at once familiar grown, As if e'en the chairs and clothes-press, Well of old to me were known. Now the clock talks kindly, gravely, And the cithern, as 'twould seem, Of itself is faintly chiming, And I sit as in a dream. Now the proper hour is striking, Here the charm should now be heard; Child, how would'st thou be astonished, Should I speak the magic word! If I spoke that word, then fading Night would thrill in fearful strife; Trees and streams would roar together As the mountains woke to life. Ringing lutes and goblin ditties From the clefted rock would sound, Like a mad and merry spring-tide Flowers grow forest-high around. Thousand startling, wondrous flowers, Leaves of vast and fabled form, Strangely perfumed, wildly quivering, As if thrilled with passion's storm. In a crimson conflagration Roses o'er the tumult rise; Giant lilies, white as crystal, Shoot like columns to the skies. Great as suns, the stars above us Gaze adown with burning glow; Fill the lilies' cups gigantic With their lights' abundant flow. We ourselves, my little maiden, Would be changed more than all; Torchlight gleams o'er gold and satin Round us merrily would fall. Thou thyself would'st be the princess, And this hut thy castle high; Ladies, lords, and graceful pages Would be dancing, singing by. I, however, I have conquered Thee, and all things, with the word! Serfs and castle--lo! with trumpet Loud they hail me as their Lord!