THE HEART OF THE WOMAN
 
 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.