The Fairy King by Willa Cather

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_"High on the hill-top / The old King sits; / He is now so old and gray / He's nigh lost his wits. "_

THE Fairy King was old.

He met the Witch of the Wold.

"Ah ha, King! " quoth she, / "Now thou art old like me."

"Nay, Witch! " quoth he, / "I am not old like thee."

The King took off his crown, / It almost bent him down; / His age was too great / To carry such a weight.

"Give it here! " she said, / And clapt it on her head.

Crown sank to ground; / The Witch no more was found.

Then sweet spring-songs were sung, / The Fairy King grew young, / His crown was made of flowers, / He lived in woods and bowers.

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