See how it raineth! and the com is cut upon the plain,

And I have left my sickle, too, forgotten 'mid the grain.

Now there it lies—ah, woe is me!—beneath the falling rain.

Of all the lads that joined the dance each took some sign

from me—

One took my girdle, and thou know'st full well which that

may be,

The one, my sister of the cross, I fashioned with thee.

My chain, sweet sister of the cross, another took; what needs

To tell thee which—the one which hath two strings of

golden beads.

Another took my flower from me—and which one dost thou

know?

It is, my sister of the cross, the floweret that doth blow

In autumn days among the grass, where thick the plum-trees

grow.

But only one took naught away, and know'st thou, sister, who?

He of whom I often spake of thee, when I most silent grew,

He, my little sister of the cross, it is I love so true.

Then quick run after him, he dwells beside the mill-pool deep,

And through his slumbers murmuring on, their watch the

waters keep,

O happy water, that may sing and lull him in his sleep.

Then quickly run thou after him, my sister, do not stay

To watch the flocks upon the hill, that browse the livelong

day;

Bring him a girdle, and a chain, yea, and a flower—and

say:

"I found them hard beside the mill, and all of them are

thine."

But stay not longer lest thou, too, should'st love him, sister

mine.

That we may both not have to weep together, oh, beware!

My tears could not love thy tears, not yet my care thy care,

They could not dwell within my hut, nor would be welcome

there.

See how it raineth! and the com is cut upon the plain,

And I have left my sickle, too, forgotten 'mid the grain,

Now there it lies—ah, woe to me! beneath the falling rain.

The spinning songs, which are absolutely improvisations, have, of course, all the inevitable character of abruptness and irregularity, but a charming grace of feeling is often visible through them, and their imagery is as effective as it is spontaneous and natural.