Good King Wenceslaus - Michael Silverman

Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the Feast of Stephen,

When the snow lay round about,

Deep and crisp and even;

Brightly shone the moon that night,

Though the frost was cruel

When a poor man came in sight,

Gathering winter fuel.

«Hither, page, and stand by me,

If though know’st it, telling,

Yonder peasent, who is he?»

Where and what his dwelling?

«Sire, he lives a good league hence,

Underneath the mountain;

Right against the forest fence,

By Saint Agnes' fountain.»

«Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,

Bring me pine logs hither;

Thou and I will see him dine,

When we bear them thither.»

Page and monarch, forth they went,

Forth they went together;

Thro' the rude wind’s wild lament

And the bitter weather.