Village Song

Honey child, honey child, whither are you going?

Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing?

Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you?

Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?

Mother mine, to the wild forest, am going.

Whereupon the Champa boughs the Champa buds are blowing. To the ko haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten,

The voices of the fairy folk are calling me: O listen!

Honey child, honey child, the world is full of pleasure. Of bridal-songs and cradle-songs and sandal-scented leisure, Your bridal robes are in the loom, silver, and saffron glowing. Your bridal cakes are on the hearth:

O whither are you going?

The bridal songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow, The laughter of the sun today, the wind of death tomorrow. Far sweeter sound the forest-notes where forest- streams are falling

O mother mine, I cannot stay the fairy-folk are calling