Текст песни Sonnet 3 (The Cold Is Here)

The cold is here, the woods are full of snow The river with its crusted banks of ice Bespeak of winter drownings long ago The chest pressed tightly, as though in a vise The birds have flown away to warmer climes The mammals in their caves to hibernate The summer seems a lost and gentle time When grass grew up against the swinging gate The children's cheeks have turned a rosy red The wealthy are beside their fires, warm And then there's he who is without a bed In which to lay and ride the raging storm And in the graveyard, cold old bones do lie And far above, the stars light up the sky