Who has handed over the iron wands,
Hammers, spanners to flowery hands?
Who has killed all the twinkling worms,
Snatching toys and dolls of fairylands?
Who knows how many sons of dream,
Go asleep, longing for milk and cream,
And motherhood with a stone of patience,
Stifles in the heart the emerging scream?
Then who will light the lamp to shine,