ould never please a high-born child like you.
Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn
Brightens above while you blow up the fire;
And evening finds you spreading the white cloth.
The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,
But you work on because your heart is old.
The young are idle.
Old father, you are wise,
And all the years have gathered in your heart
To whisper of the wonders that are gone.
The young must sigh through many a dream and hope,
But you are wise because your heart is old.
O, who would think to find so young a child
Loving old age and wisdom.
[BRIDGET gives her more bread and honey.
No more, mother.
What a small bite; The milk is ready now;
What a small sip!
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