A lonely child with toil o’ertaxed,
Sits Cinderella by the fire;
Her limbs in weariness relaxed,
And in her eyes a sad desire.
But soon a wreath is on her brow;
A bonny prince has claimed her hand;
And she’s as proud and happy now
As any lady in the land.
Ah, then to see a fairy bright,
And to have granted what you would,