Thick fell the snow upon St. George's day;
The little birds all left their cloudy bed;
The maiden wander'd bare-foot on her way;
Her brother bore her sandals, and he said:
"O sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be."
"No! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feet--
But my poor heart is cold with misery.
There's nought to chill me in the snowy sleet:
My mother--'tis my mother who hath chill'd me,
Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill'd me."