To — — —

TO — — —

THO' faintly shines this winter's sun, And short his visits be, He warms my heart, for oft I hope, He shines on you and me.

The moon too, beauteous queen of night, Enraptur'd still I see; For sure I think her rays serene, Are seen by you and me.

And gaily burns our rural fire, And happy should I be, But cold's my heart, there wants a charm, It warms not you and me.

And fiercely blows this cold north wind, For ruffian blasts has he; But bitterer far that zephyr's breeze, Which parted you and me.