The snowstorm is crying like a Romany violin.
Sweet is the girl. She is wicked when smiling.
Blue are her eyes, do the give me a scare?
I need quite a lot, and I don't really care.
We're so much alike and so much contrasted, -
You're young. I am old. And my life has all rusted.
The young ones are happy while I am all wizened
Recalling the past, in this terrible blizzard.
I'mnot mollycoddled. The storm is my violin.
My heart is snow-clad when I see you smiling.