“O fair lady! will you come with me
To a wonderful country which is mine,
Where the people’s hair is of golden hue,
And their bodies the colour of virgin snow?
“There no grief or care is known;
White are their teeth, black their eyelashes;
Delight of the eye is the rank of our hosts,
With the hue of the fox-glove on every cheek.
“Crimson are the flowers of every mead,
Gracefully speckled as the blackbird’s egg;