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."