Frozen Heart

Thick fell the snow upon St. George’s day; The little birds all left their cloudy bed; The maiden wander’d bare-foot on her way; Her brother bore her sandals, and he said: “O sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be.” “No! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feet— But my poor heart is cold with misery. There’s nought to chill me in the snowy sleet: My mother—’tis my mother who hath chill’d me, Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill’d me.”