My husband to the wars has gone
And I a cloak for him would make:
To wrap him from that rugged clime
Lest bitter cold his slumbers break.
But when I tried to cut the words
Of "Happy Spring" as omen fair,
The chilling breath that winter leaves
Benumbed and left me helpless there.
If cold am I, far colder thou
Upon those desert plains and bare!
Thou lookest for thy cloak and I
Of sending it despair.