The windows frosted;
O' the quiver wind.
It is but Fall, yet it's Winter;
how can that be?
It is but the bleak December,
not yet Winter.
O' the quiver wind-
The quiver wind,
freeze of gust and shiver.
O' the brisk wintry night-
this brisk brisk night;
is there no warmth in sight?
O' the quiver wind-
the frosted glass;
it is but that an untimely Winter,
yet it's not quite Winter.
O' the brisk wintry night-
The quiver wind-
The quiver wind-
O' such tragedy,
such tragedy it is.