said my mother when I was knee-high,

you've need of clothes to cover you, and not a rag have I.

There's nothing in the house to make a boy breeches,

nor shears to cut a cloth with, nor thread to take stitches.

There's nothing in the house but a loaf end of rye.

And a half with a woman's head

nobody will buy.

You are listening to the voice of

Edna's St. Vincent Malay reading

The Ballad of the Harpweaver.

A page from this Sunday's edition

of Anthology.

Music from this Sunday's edition of Anthology. This is Fleetwood, and today we're temporarily replacing our anthology theme with a familiar music that is so much a part of the spirit of the Christmas season.

Each Sunday at 6.30, W.R.CA, in cooperation with the Poetry Center of the YM and YWHA, 92nd Street

in Lexington Avenue in Manhattan, brings you anthology, a selection of readings from poets,

past and present, and the music to accompany their poetry.

This week, Poetry for Christmas,

by transcription Edna St. Vincent Millay

reading her beloved Ballad of the Harpweaver

and Dylan Thomas' delightful and tender

a child's Christmas in Wales,

recorded too by the poet himself. Thank you. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.

...