The night was dewy and much cold,
Hearts were young while story was old.
I was collecting the dry woods,
To warm myself so that I could.
In burning flames, I saw shadow,
As she walked towards the meadow.
I heard mild soft voice of her feet,
My body thrilled on each heart’s beat.
She sat near, close to the fire,
Advanced her hands to warm up here.
The hand was as white as the snow,
Or as in sunshine, dew does glow.
In white dress like princess of snow,
From where did she come, do you know?
With a terror there moved my hand,
And she gripped it with great bland.