Cinderella sitting in her dingy chimney corner,
Delving in the ashes, with the smoke upon her eyes,
With pots and kettles waiting, all her kinfolk by to scorn her,
Longed perhaps to meet a prince, handsome, young, and wise.
Maybe Sleeping Beauty on her couch within the castle,
While her golden hair crept down to touch her silent feet,
Dreamed about a rider with a scarlet cap and tassel
Who would hack away the hedge and cry, "Awaken, sweet!"


While I'm washing dishes, or scraping out the skillet,
Or when I am sprinkling, or folding up the clothes,
Sometimes I too dream; it seems foolish-like to tell it...
But their princes came at last and ... ah, who knows?