And hide my form from her wounded sight.
In secret then, till my end draws nigh,
I will toil for her; and when I die,
I'll leave behind, as a farewell boon
To the proud young princess, my whole cocoon,
To be reeled, and wove to a shining lace,
And hung in a veil o'er her scornful face!
And when she can calmly draw her breath
Through the very threads that have caused my death;
"When she finds at length, she has nerves so firm,