“MY mother says I must not pass

She is afraid that I will see

A little witch that looks like me,

With a red, red mouth to whisper low

The very thing I should not know!”

“Alack for all your mother’s care!

A wistful wind, or (I suppose)

Sent by some hapless boy—a rose,

With breath too sweet, will whisper low

The very thing you should not know!”