He went to the brook at break of day,
And made a pipe out of a reed.
"_Pipe high--pipe low! Each wind that blows
Is comrade to my wandering.
Who has a song wherever he goes,
He has no need of anything!_"
His brother's wife threw open the door.
"Piper, come in for a while," she said.
"Thou shalt sit at my hearth since thou art so poor
And thou shalt give me a song instead!"
Pipe high--pipe low--all over the wold!
"Lad, wilt thou not come in?" asked she.
"Who has a song, he feels no cold!
My brother's hearth is mine own," quoth he.
"_Pipe high--pipe low! For what care I
Though there be no hearth on the wide gray plain?
I have set my face to the open sky,
And have cloaked myself in the thick gray rain._"
Over the hills where the white clouds are,
He piped to the sheep till they needs must come.
They fed in pastures strange and far,
But at fall of night he brought them home.
They followed him, bleating, wherever he led:
He called his brother out to see.
"I have brought thee my flocks for a gift," he said,
"For thou seest that they are mine," quoth he.
"_Pipe high--pipe low! wherever I go
The wide grain presses to hear me sing.
Who has a song, though his state be low,
He has no need of anything._"
"Ye have taken my house," he said, "and my sheep,
But ye had no heart to take me in.
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