My Mother Dandled Me And Sang, 'How Young It Is, How Young!' And Made A Golden Cradle That On A Willow Swung. 'He Went Away,' My Mother Sang, 'When I Was Brought To Bed,' And All The While Her Needle Pulled The Gold And Silver Thread. She Pulled The Thread And Bit The Thread And Made A Golden Gown, And Wept Because She Had Dreamt That I Was Born To Wear A Crown. 'When She Was Got,' My Mother Sang, I Heard A Sea-Mew Cry, And Saw A Flake Of The Yellow Foam That Dropped Upon My Thigh.' How Therefore Could She Help But Braid The Gold Into My Hair, And Dream That I Should Carry The Golden Top Of Care?