Four Songs , opus 22

There was a kingdom fair to see,
But pale, so pale, with never a rose:
The cold wind blows across the lea,
Westward the pale sun goes.

There was a maiden, soft and dear,
But pale, so pale, with never a rose:
Each quiv'ring eyelid holds a tear,
Seaward her sad heart goes.

Before me, careless, lying,
Young Love his wares came crying.
Full soon the elf untreasures
His pack of pains and pleasures;
With roguish eye,
He bids me buy
From out his pack of treasures.

His wallet's stuffed with blisses,
With true-love knots and kisses,
With rings and rosy fetters,
And sugar'd vows and letters.
He holds them out
With boyish flout,
And bids me try the fetters.

"Nay, child," I cry, "I know them;
There's little need to shew them!
Too well for new believing
I know their old deceiving,
I am too old,"
I say, "and cold,
Today, for new believing"!

But still the wanton presses,
With honey-sweet caresses,
And still, to my undoing,
He wins me with his wooing,
To buy his ware
With all its care,
It's sorrow and undoing.

A widow bird sate mourning for her love
  Upon a wintry bough,
The frozen wind crept on above;
  The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
  No flower upon the ground
And little motion in the air,
  Except the mill-wheel's sound.

I saw three black pigs riding
In a blue and yellow cart;
Three black pigs riding to the fair
Behind the old grey dappled mare,
But it wasn't black pigs riding
In a gay and gaudy cart
That sent me into hiding
With a flutter in my heart.

I heard the cart returning,
The jolting jingling cart;
Returning empty from from the fair
Behind the old jogtrotting mare
But it wasn't the returning 
Of a clatt'ring empty cart,
That sent the hot blood burning
And throbbing thro' my heart.