(a trifle)

Three daughters has the master of the house.
He bids them sing for us
From some concealéd place,
And the drink of his house is time
And the meat of his house is grace.
Three daughters that were born
Of love that keeps the sun in place,
And whiteley goes the lawn
Before that house, and they
Have fawns that feed out of their hands,
And hawks that shade them with their wings.