Up in the cave of the wind,
All bent and crabbed with their years,
In endless chatter they sit,
Old Distaff, Spindle, and Shears.
And they caught a mother's song
Going by them on the breeze,
As she hushed her pretty babe
To sweet slumber on her knees.
'Oh, you shall be great and proud,
And you shall be strong and fleet,
For fame to your call will come,
And captive Love to your feet.
'And life for you shall be long,
All full of your heart's desire'—
She sang as she rocked her babe
To sleep by the golden fire.

Up in the cave of the wind
Bent with their difficult years
In mocking laughter they sit,
Old Distaff, Spindle, and Shears.