By the lakeside flax to spin,
And a low-hummed song did win
Thro' their threads all fine and thin,
Stealing, flashing out and in.
(Was it magic, Wêland-Smith?)
When the golden flax was spun
(Threads of fate for Wêland-Smith!)
When the golden flax was spun:
"Sisters," said the youngest one,
"See the ripples of the sun