So let the glistening white, white snow
Fall down upon these fallow years,
And on the shallow plains,
The hill,
The dell.

And let the bitter, wild, white wind
Fill out these unexpectant sails,
While the brave proud Captain sleeps,
Till port,
Till harbour’s calm.

And let the frozen wastes preserve our dreams until we wake,
Inside the night-time darkness that we make;
Lest we would otherwise be quiet and alone
Keeping council with our friends:
The storm,
The rain.
O let the glistening white, white snow

A-melting go,
So the grass beneath our feet may grow.
And passing through this dark terrain
Where we might fall in love again,
Upon the hill,
The dell.

Come down to the valley, cold and bright
Behind the oak tree, out of sight,
Come down to the river, if you will,
Where the white queen lives by the water mill,
And the wheel turns round though the water is still,
And she cries from the deep, she cries from the hill.
Then she covers her eyes from the light of day,
And sings sad lullabies, so they say.

Come barefoot now and as you pass,
Step round the broken looking glass,
And climb the wretched padlocked gate
That seals the path that is your fate
While the white queen marks you down as late

Then makes you wait, makes you wait.
Then she covers her face with her veil of white
And cries unheeded through the night…

…Come down to the valley, overgrown,
To the palace of blue-green ice and stone,
Where the dew has settled on the dry riverbed.
With the beating wings of a heart now fled
She moans to the rhythm of the dark unsaid
A prayer of longing, a song of dread.
Then she closes the covers and turns away,
And prays that she will die,
One day.