COLD, it is cold, and my sad heart is still. The day is gray, and dark, and clouds Scud o'er the sky, the rain blots out the hill.
Strange is the light and my sad eyes are blank.
The way is rough and long; the thorns.
Grow o'er the path, the weeds are thick and rank.
Hard it is hard the way my heart will take. The latch is fast, the lock is rude, Perish will I, and love itself's at stake.
Knock ye must knock the gudeman is inside.
The fire is lit, the supper laid,
Rend but your head and wait whate'er betide.