Like a flower in the frost
Sweet Jenny lies,
With her frail hands calmly crossed,
And close-shut eyes.
Bring a candle, for the room
Is dark and cold,
Antechamber of the tomb -
O grief untold!
Like a snowdrift is her bed,
Dinted the snow,
Faint frozen lines from foot to head, -
She lies below.
Turn from off her shrouded face
The frigid sheet....
Death hath doubled all her grace -
O Jenny, sweet!