LET ME LIE down upon the ground beneath your footstool in perfect gladness. Let my garment be red with the common dust you touch with your feet. Set me not higher than others; keep me not apart from all else. Draw me down into a sweet lowliness. Let my garment be red with the common dust you touch with your feet. Let me remain the last of all your pilgrims; I shall try to reach the lowest site which is the broadest. They come from all sides to ask for gifts from your hands. Let me wait till they all have had their shares; I shall be content with the last remnant. Let my garment be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.
AH, WHO WAS it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered your sweet limbs with that little red tunic? You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard, tottering and tumbling as you run. But who was it coloured that little frock, my child? What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud? Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold. She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance with your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd. But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud? O beggar, what do you beg for, clinging to your mother's neck with both your hands? O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the sky to place it on your little rosy palm? O beggar, what are you begging for? The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet bells. The sun smiles and watches your toilet. The sky watches over you when you sleep in your mother's arms, and the morning comes tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes. The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet bells. The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying through the twilight sky. The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart. He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window with his flute. And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying through the twilight sky.
