My Lady she was weaving
below her silver moon
her nimble fingers working
while a soft wind blows a tune
My Lady she is working
and my window was her loom
her lazy threads like spiders webs
and winters sweet perfume
My Lady she has worked
her very silken lace
and walked upon the icy earth
with her nimble step of grace
My Lady she has covered
all sleeping forms of life
and the chill upon her fingers
cuts through the threads of life