"My mother says I must not passToo near that glass;She is afraid that I will seeA little witch that looks like me,With a red, red mouth to whisper lowThe very thing I should not know!"
"Alack for all your mother's care!A bird of the air,A wistful wind,or (I supposeSent by some hapless boy) a rose,With breath too sweet, will whisper lowThe very thing you should not know!"
