O what to me the little room
That was brimmed up with prayer and rest；
He bade me out into the gloom，
And my breast lies upon his breast.
O what to me my mother‘s care，
The house where I was safe and warm；
The shadowy blossom of my hair
Will hide us from the bitter storm.
O hiding hair and dewy eyes，
I am no more with life and death，
My heart upon his warm heart lies，
My breath is mixed into his breath.