54
Though in drifts the snows may lie,
Though it hail, though storm winds cry,
Hurtling at my window pane,
Never more will I complain.
For within my heart I bear
Springtide joys and thoughts of Her.
Though it hail, though storm winds cry,
Hurtling at my window pane,
Never more will I complain.
For within my heart I bear
Springtide joys and thoughts of Her.
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