Oh, that Winter season
Now far away it be—
How far the damage done
That horrid quarter three.

That crystal cage before,
Which once held to me fast—
Which once I did abhor—
The prison did not last.

A figure from the crowd,
With eyes so honey-warm,
And hands of strength endow’d,
The cage and thorns disarm.

And then the storm-clouds break
As hand firmly clasps hand…
As glist’ning sun does wake
Once empty, lonesome land.

The gentle smile I love—
The firm hands I love more…
The voice of him thereof
Since leaving homeland’s shore…

He did brave my storm!
He, in the crowd, did start
For my glass cage—did warm,
And calmed tumultuous heart.