SSS

OUT IN THE COLD.
ACK FROST is a sharp one,
And nips, as he goes,
Poor mittenless fingers
And stockingless toes,
And bites without mercy
Your ears and your nose.

‘Why, dear little maiden!
Out here in the cold,

The snow and the north wind
That whistles so bold,

Like a shivering pet lamb
Astray from its fold ?

Hurry on! Hurry on!
Little maiden, I say,
For the wind bloweth keen
On this cold winter day,
And the frost has no pity
For any astray.
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