there was a house by a mighty river, big, strange and old, and it was very quiet.
grass enveloped the floor, cushioning the feet of the daughter who lived there.
the daughter saw the sky through holes in the roof, but she never caused a riot.
the daughter was soft and silent, and with locks of wheat, she was uncommonly fair.
her eyes were green like the forest and her skin was as gold as the sun.
there was no one for her but herself, yet the daughter learnt and grew.
no parents had she, and so along the banks of the mighty river she would run
and one day she met a man along the banks, and she thought him brave and fair and true.
"a maid of sixteen I have seen," the man who was yet a prince proclaimed.
but he could never find that big old house, and defeated, he proclaimed her shrew.
and yet the truth was that she simply wished to remain unnamed.