Down-adown-derry,
  There’s snow in the air;
Ice where the lily
  Bloomed waxen and fair;
He may call o’er the water,
  Cry—­cry through the Mill,
But Annie Maroon, alas! 
  Answer ne’er will;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

THE SUPPER

A wolf he pricks with eyes of fire
Across the night’s o’ercrusted snows. 
    Seeking his prey,
    He pads his way
Where Jane benighted goes,
  Where Jane benighted goes.

He curdles the bleak air with ire,
Ruffling his hoary raiment through,
    And lo! he sees
    Beneath the trees
Where Jane’s light footsteps go,
  Where Jane’s light footsteps go.

No hound peals thus in wicked joy,
He snaps his muzzle in the snows,
    His five-clawed feet
    Do scamper fleet
Where Jane’s bright lanthorn shows,
  Where Jane’s bright lanthorn shows.

Now his greed’s green doth gaze unseen
On a pure face of wilding rose,
    Her amber eyes
    In fear’s surprise
Watch largely as she goes,
  Watch largely as she goes.

Salt wells his hunger in his jaws,
His lust it revels to and fro,
    Yet small beneath
    A soft voice saith,
“Jane shall in safety go,
  Jane shall in safety go.”

He lurched as if a fiery lash
Had scourged his hide, and through and through
    His furious eyes
    O’erscanned the skies,
But nearer dared not go,
  But nearer dared not go.

He reared like wild Bucephalus,
His fangs like spears in him uprose,
    Even to the town
    Jane’s flitting gown
He grins on as she goes,
  He grins on as she goes.

In fierce lament he howls amain,
He scampers, marvelling in his throes
    What brought him there
    To sup on air,
While Jane unharmed goes,
  While Jane unharmed goes.

THE ISLE OF LONE

Three dwarfs there were which lived in an isle,
  And the name of that Isle was Lone,
And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,
  Lallerie, Muziomone.

Alliolye was green of een,
  Lallerie light of locks,
Muziomone was mild of mien,
  As ewes in April flocks.

Their house was small and sweet of the sea,
  And pale as the Malmsey wine;
Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,
  And their nightcaps white were nine.

Their beds they were made of the holly-wood,
  Their combs of the tortoise’s shell,
Three basins of silver in corners there stood,
  And three little ewers as well.

Green rushes, green rushes lay thick on the floor,
  For light beamed a gobbet of wax;
There were three wooden stools for whatever they wore
  On their humpity-dumpity backs.

So each would lie on a drowsy pillow
  And watch the moon in the sky—­
And hear the parrot scream to the billow,
  The billow roar reply: