A little black thing among the snow:
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are they father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath
And smil’d among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

And because I am happy & dance & sing,
They think ( Read more... )