With snow of flowers my fields were clad,
Madly and merrily passed each day,
And next day and next day—
While all around
By others naught but the ice was found.
‘O ungrateful heart, were you ever sad?
She was coming to you from the first,’ I said.
She turned to me her eager head,
Clutching at what my thoughts did say.
“She went from me and the world was sad—