-rr--
One of the bobbins was full; and then,
Whirr, and whirr-rr, and whirr-rr-rr again,
Until all the straw that had been spread
Had been deftly spun into golden thread.

At sunrise came the king
To the chamber, and, behold,
Instead of the ugly heaps of straw
Were bobbins full of gold!
This made him greedier than before;
And he led the maiden out at the door
Into a new room, where she saw
Still larger and larger heaps of straw,
A chair to sit in, a spinning-wheel,
A little can of oil, and a reel;
And he said that straw, too, must be spun
To gold before the next day's sun
Was an hour high in the morning sky,
And if 'twas not done, she must die.

Down sank she in despair,
Her tears falling like rain;
She could not spin a single thread,
She could not reel a skein.
But the door swung back, and through the chink,
With the same droll smile and merry wink,
The dwarf peered, saying, "What will you do
If I'll spin the straw once more for you?"
"Ah me, I can give not a single thing,"
She cried, "except my finger-ring."
He took the slender toy,
And slipped it over his thumb;
Then down he sat and whirled the wheel,
Hum, and hum-m, and hum-m-m;
Round and round with a droning sound,
Many a yellow spool he wound,
Many a glistening skein he reeled;
And still, like bees in a clover-field,
The wheel went hum, and hum-m and hum-m-m.
Next morning the king came,
Almost before sunrise,
To the chamber where the maiden was,
And could scarce believe his eyes
To see the straw, to the smallest shreds,
Made into shining amber threads.
And he cried, "When once more I have tried
Your skill like this, you shall be my bride;

For I might search through all my life
Nor find elsewhere so rich a wife."
Then he led her by the hand
Through still another door,
To a room filled twice as full of straw
As either had been before.
There stood the chair and the spinning-wheel,
And there the can of oil and the reel;
And as he gently shut her in
He whispered, "Spin, little maiden, spin."

Again she wept, and again
Did the little dwarf appear;
"What will you give this time," he asked,
"If I spin for you, my dear?"

Alas--poor little maid--alas!
Out of her eyes as gray as glass
Faster and faster tears did fall,
As she moaned, "I've nothing to give at all."
Ah, wicked indeed he looked