Sat the little Rosel bright.
The wind -blew out her curls—
A sweeter face I have never seen
Than this happy little girl's.
A spray of the carrot's foliage fine,
Soft as a feather of green,
Drooped over her head from behind her ear.
As proud as the plume of a queen.
Light was his burden to merry Max,
With Rosel perched above,