Gone, and the light gone with her, and left me in shadow here!
Gone—flitted away,
Taken the stars from the night and the sun from the day!
Gone, and a cloud in my heart, and a storm in the air!
Flown to the east or the west, flitted I know not where!
Down in the south is a flash and a groan: she is there! she is there!'
The winter comes, but our lover holds out in spite of the season:
'Bite, frost, bite!
You roll up away from the light
The blue woodlouse, and the plump dormouse,