The Witch, as she passes
Is there any who will dare
To climb up the yellow stair,
Glorious Rapunzel's golden hair?
The Prince
If it would please God make you sing again,
I think that I might very sweetly die,
My soul somehow reach heaven in joyous pain,
My heavy body on the beech-nuts lie.
Now I remember; what a most strange year,
Most strangle and awful, in the beechen wood
I have pass'd now; I still have a faint fear
It is a kind of dream not understood.
I have seen no one in this wood except
The witch and her; have heard no human tones,
But when the witches' revelry has crept
Between the very jointing of my bones.
Ah! I know now; I could not go away.
But needs must stop to hear her sing that song
She always sings at dawning of the day.
I am not happy here, for I am strong,
And every morning do I whet my sword,
Yet Rapunzel still weeps within the tower,
And still God ties me down to the green sward,
Because I cannot see the gold stair floating lower.
