The Heart of the Woman
O what to me the little roomThat 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 hairWill 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.
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