[Illustration]
Three and thirty birds there stood
In an elder in a wood;
Called Melmillo--flew off three,
Leaving thirty in a tree;
Called Melmillo--nine now gone,
And the boughs held twenty-one;
Called Melmillo--eighteen
Left but three to nod and preen;
Called Melmillo--three--two--one--
Now of birds were feathers none.
Then stole slim Melmillo in
To that wood all dusk and green,
And with lean long palms outspread
Softly a strange dance did tread;
Not a note of music she
Had for echoing company;
All the birds were flown to rest
In the hollow of her breast;
In the wood thorn, elder, willow--
Danced alone--lone danced Melmillo.