When she had done her work, she would go over to the chimney corner, and sit among the cinders.

'Anne, my sister Anne, do you see nothing coming?' 'I see nothing but the sun that makes everything dusty, and the grass that grows green.'

Her godmother, who was a fairy, said to her, 'You want to go to the ball, don't you?'

But the blood always remained, for the key was enchanted.

Ah! there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.

Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not …

Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang the while she sings; Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves the sad vicissitu…