With his owl's feather and dripping hair,
I could lie warm and not care,
I should rid myself of this Changeling yet.
I carried my woe to the Wise Man yonder,
"You sell forgetfulness, they say.
How much to pay
To forget a son who is my sorrow?"
The Wise Man began to ponder.
"Charms have I, many a one,
To make a woman forget her lover,