O what to me the little room  
That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;  
He bade me out into the gloom,  
And my breast lies upon his breast.  
 
O what to me my mother’s care,
The house where I was safe and warm;  
The shadowy blossom of my hair  
Will hide us from the bitter storm.  
 
O hiding hair and dewy eyes,  
I am no more with life and death,
My heart upon his warm heart lies,  
My breath is mixed into his breath.

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Maria Do Céu Pires Costa
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