Somewhere in the brush I told
You to hold on back the cold.
For what do you choose to go and fold?
Why retreat with your glistening gold?
To-day ends soon and the night comes soon,
Alone under a new and crying moon.
But your day’s mark was left with me:
A red and hot burn, you sly escapee,
It’s left with me while you evade my plea!
Your hazy purple folks in the sky,
Signal that your leave draws nigh.
The fire was hot, the snow is cold,
Without your warm hands to hold.
I’ll wait through this long to-night -
I’ll wait for your return, my light.