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.