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.