“Ever,” she said, “I dwell alone
With a hard-handed cruel crone.

And of this crone am I the thrall
To serve her still in bower and hall;

And fetch and carry in the wood,
And do whate’er she deemeth good.

But whiles a sort of folk there come
And seek my mistress at her home;

But such-like are they to behold
As make my very blood run cold.

Oft have I thought, if there be none
On earth save these, would all were done!

Forsooth, I knew it was not so,
But that fairer folk on earth did grow.

But fain and full is the heart in me
To know that folk are like to thee.”

Then hand in hand they stood awhile
Till her tears rose up beneath his smile.

And he must fold her to his breast
To give her heart a while of rest.

Till sundered she and gazed about,
And bent her brows as one in doubt.

She spake:  “The wood is growing thin,
Into the full light soon shall we win.

Now crouch we that we be not seen,
Under yon bramble-bushes green.”

Under the bramble-bush they lay
Betwixt the dusk and the open day.

“O Goldilocks my love, look forth
And let me know what thou seest of worth.”

He said:  “I see a house of stone,
A castle excellently done.”

“Yea,” quoth she, “There doth the mistress dwell. 
What next thou seest shalt thou tell.”

“What lookest thou to see come forth?”
“Maybe a white bear of the North.”

“Then shall my sharp sword lock his mouth.” 
“Nay,” she said, “or a worm of the South.”

“Then shall my sword his hot blood cool.” 
“Nay, or a whelming poison-pool.”

“The trees its swelling flood shall stay,
And thrust its venomed lip away.”

“Nay, it may be a wild-fire flash
To burn thy lovely limbs to ash.”

“On mine own hallows shall I call,
And dead its flickering flame shall fall.”

“O Goldilocks my love, I fear
That ugly death shall seek us here.

Look forth, O Goldilocks my love. 
That I thine hardy heart may prove.

What cometh down the stone-wrought stair
That leadeth up to the castle fair?”

“Adown the doorward stair of stone
There cometh a woman all alone.”

“Yea, that forsooth shall my mistress be: 
O Goldilocks, what like is she?”

“O fair she is of her array,
As hitherward she wends her way.”

“Unlike her wont is that indeed: 
Is she not foul beneath her weed?”

“O nay, nay!  But most wondrous fair
Of all the women earth doth bear.”

“O Goldilocks, my heart, my heart! 
Woe, woe! for now we drift apart.”

But up he sprang from the bramble-side,
And “O thou fairest one!” he cried: 

And forth he ran that Queen to meet,
And fell before her gold-clad feet.