Twelfth Night

Three wild kings come to the town,

Riding with one mind;

Scarlet, cinnamon, stormy blue,

Stream their cloaks behind.

Call the wild kings through the night,

Standing each at door;

"Open. There is here a gift,

Kept for you of yore."

"Here is gold," saith the wild king,

He the blue-clad one;

"Here is frankincense," saith he,

All in cinnamon.

Saith the king in scarlet cloak,

Standing there at door;

"Here is myrrh, a bitter thing,

Kept for you of yore."