Bright moonlight shines through the trees.
In a rich brocade, the flowers bloom.
How can I think of you-
Alone, lonely, working at my loom.
In this house on a hill without walls,
The four winds touch our faces.
If they blow open your robe of gauze,
I'll try to hide my smile.
Winter skies are cold and low,
With harsh winds and freezing sleet.
But when we make love beneath our quilt,
We make three summer months of heat.