Behind, the maid, a very old maid,
Is carrying out the clothes:
I don’t know if there’s a blackbird near,
Prepared to snap off her nose.
And there stands the little maid by the well,
And a little doll sits on the brink:
Her name is Belinda Dorothy Ann,
And that’s a fine name, I think!
A little bird sits on the garden pale,
And his voice is clear and good,—