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!