Lo! a fir-tree towers o’er Sarajevo,
Spreads o’er half the face of Sarajevo—
Rises up to heaven from Sarajevo:
Brothers and half-sisters there were seated;
And the brother cuts a silken garment,
Which he holds, and questions thus his sister:
“Brother’s wife! thou sweet and lovely dovelet!
Wherefore art thou looking at the fir-tree?
Art thou rather dreaming of the poplar,
Or art thinking of my absent brother?”
To her brother thus the lady answer’d:
“Golden-ring of mine! my husband’s brother!
Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming,
Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar;
Neither was I dreaming of my brother.
I was thinking of my only mother,
She with sugar and with honey reared me;
She for me the red wine pour’d at even,
And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin;
In the morning milk, with spirit chasten’d,
So to give me cheeks of rose and lily;
And with gentle messages she waked me,
That her child might grow both tall and slender.”