Edmund Dulac's picture-book for the French Red Cross/The Chilly Lover
THE CHILLY LOVER
A SONG FROM THE FRENCH
Behold me here, my dear to meet!
Alas, I must have come too soon
The wind that blows beneath the moon
In winter is not over-sweet.
Ah I never think my love is backward turning,
It still increases by a thousand-fold;
O Ursula, for thee
My heart is burning,—
But I'm so cold!
I would I had thy hand to kiss,
That pledge of faith so white and small,
Instead of these great flakes that fall
And chill me to the bone like this!
Upon my back they tumble helter-skelter,
And yet, beyond whatever could be told,
Ursula, for thee
I simply swelter,—
But I'm so cold!
While thus my deathless love I trill,
My soft guitar for thee I play;
Alas, the north wind fierce and grey
Plays upon me a measure shrill!
On me his miserable music making,
Seizing each finger in his icy hold.—
Ursula, for thee
My heart is baking,—
But I'm so cold!
Within thy room with friendly glow
I see the hearthfire shining clear;
The crackling faggots I can hear,—
And I am numb from top to toe!
Oh, must I freeze while thou art toasting?
Shall not my suffering be consoled?
Sweet Ursula, for thee
I am just roasting,—
But I'm so cold!
O URSULA, FOR THEE
MY HEART IS BURNING,—
BUT I'M SO COLD!