XXXVIII

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XXXVIII

Lullaby

Lullaby! Lullaby!

There’s a tower strong and high

Built of oak and brick and stone,

Stands before a wood alone.

The doors are of the oak so brown

As any ale in Oxford town,

The walls are builded warm and thick

Of the old red Roman brick,

The good grey stone is over all

In arch and floor of the tower tall.

And maidens three are living there

All in the upper chamber fair,

Hung with silver, hung with pall,

And stories painted on the wall.

And softly goes the whirring loom

In my ladies’ upper room,

For they shall spin both night and day

Until the stars do pass away.

But every night at evèning.

The window open wide they fling,

And one of them says a word they know

And out as three white swans they go,

And the murmuring of the woods is drowned

In the soft wings’ whirring sound,

As they go flying round, around,

Singing in swans’ voices high

A lonely, lovely lullaby.