The Knitter

The maiden sat upon the hill, Upon the hill and far away, Her fingers wove a silken cord, And thus I heard the maiden say: “O with what joy, what ready will, If some fond youth, some youth adored, Might wear thee, should I weave thee now! The finest gold I’d interblend, The richest pearls as white as snow. But if I knew, my silken friend, That an old man should wear thee, I The coarsest worsted would inweave, Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave, And all thy knots with nettles tie.”