Where feet go swifter and eyes see clearer,
Little I heed what the toilers name me—
I have heard the call that to miss were sin,
The April voices that clamour and claim me,
(Heart of my high hills, take me in.)
They brought to the little Princess, from her earliest hour of birth,
The lovely things, the beautiful things, the soft things of earth.
They covered her floor with crimson, they wrapped her in eiderdown;