In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat,
Taking his ease on cushion and mat,
Close at hand lay his staff and his hat. 
  ’When wilt thou start? the bride waits, O youth.’—­
’Now the moon’s at full; I tarried for that,
    Now I start in truth.

’But tell me first, true voice of my doom,
Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; 20
Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom,
  Watch for me asleep and awake?’—­
’Spell-bound she watches in one white room,
    And is patient for thy sake.

’By her head lilies and rosebuds grow;
The lilies droop, will the rosebuds blow? 
The silver slim lilies hang the head low;
  Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare: 
Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow,
    They will blossom and wax fair. 30

’Red and white poppies grow at her feet,
The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat,
Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat;
  But the white buds swell, one day they will burst,
Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet—­
    Which will open the first?’

Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail,
And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: 
‘Time is short, life is short,’ they took up the tale: 
  ’Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; 40
Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail;
    Love is sweet, use to-day.’

While the song swept by, beseeching and meek,
Up rose the Prince with a flush on his cheek,
Up he rose to stir and to seek,
  Going forth in the joy of his strength;
Strong of limb if of purpose weak,
    Starting at length.

Forth he set in the breezy morn,
Crossing green fields of nodding corn, 50
As goodly a Prince as ever was born;
  Carolling with the carolling lark;—­
Sure his bride will be won and worn,
    Ere fall of the dark.

So light his step, so merry his smile,
A milkmaid loitered beside a stile,
Set down her pail and rested awhile,
  A wave-haired milkmaid, rosy and white;
The Prince, who had journeyed at least a mile,
    Grew athirst at the sight. 60

’Will you give me a morning draught?’—­
‘You’re kindly welcome,’ she said, and laughed. 
He lifted the pail, new milk he quaffed;
  Then wiping his curly black beard like silk: 
’Whitest cow that ever was calved
    Surely gave you this milk.’

Was it milk now, or was it cream? 
Was she a maid, or an evil dream? 
Here eyes began to glitter and gleam;
  He would have gone, but he stayed instead; 70
Green they gleamed as he looked in them: 
    ‘Give me my fee,’ she said.—­

’I will give you a jewel of gold.’—­
’Not so; gold is heavy and cold.’—­
’I will give you a velvet fold
  Of foreign work your beauty to deck.’—­
’Better I like my kerchief rolled
    Light and white round my neck.’—­