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And under the boughs unbowed |
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All clothed in a snowy shroud |
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She had no heart so hardened |
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All under the boughs unbowed |
|
|
|
Each feather it fell from skin |
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Till threadbare while she grew thin |
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How were my eyes so blinded? |
|
Each feather it fell from skin |
|
|
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And I will hang my head, hang my head low |
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And I will hang my head, hang my head low |
|
|
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A gray sky, a bitter sting |
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A rain cloud, a crane on wing |
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All out beyond horizon |
|
A grey sky, a bitter sting |
|
|
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And I will hang my head, hang my head low |
|
And I will hang my head, hang my head low |
