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.