Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue,
The innocent child-mind I still can read—
Yes, Signë, I know that ’tis you!
I needs must laugh when I think how oft
I have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloft
As you used to ride. You were then a child;
Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild.
Signë.
[Threatening with her finger.]
Beware! If the nixie’s ire you awaken,