And among the gold of her blithesome hair
Dim shone the golden crown.
“There came a bird this morning,
And sang ’neath my bower eaves,
Till I dreamed, as his music made me,
‘Ask thou for the Singing Leaves’”
Then the brow of the King swelled crimson
With a flush of angry scorn:
“Well have ye spoken, my two eldest,
And chosen as ye were born;