On her brow, a bright star gleams;
She is sweet of form and face,
Full of majesty and grace,
Tsar Saltan's own wife beside her.
He gazed on and recognized her.
And his heart began to leap,
"Am I dreaming in my sleep?"
Gasped the tsar in stark surprise,
Tears a-streaming from his eyes,
He embraced his wife in pride,
Kissed his son, his son's fair bride;
Then they all sat down to feast
Where their laughter never ceased,
While the cook, and royal weaver,
And their mother, sly deceiver,
Fled and hid beneath the stairs
But were dragged out by their hairs.
Weeping, each her crimes confessed,
Begged forgiveness, beat her breast.
So the tsar, in his great glee
Sent them home across the sea,
Late at night, with tipsy head, Tsar Saltan was put to bed.
I drank beer and mead there–yet
Only got my whiskers wet.