It’s cold in the world! A bed

Seems like heaven in autumn.

The hop is wavered by wind,

The hop prattles above the barn;

The rain repeats: pit-a-pat,

Onto the courtyard, pours and pours …

The light from the window—so weak!

To a child’s heart—so bitter!

The brother rubs in thought

Both eyes with a little hand:

The poor is awakened! It’s now

The turn of the tomboy sister.

A sponge and a washbasin

In a dark corner—at hand.

It’s cold! A doll without eyes

Is sombrely scowling:

It pities the little sunshine!

In the hall—trembling sounds …

The pianoforte, slightly

Touched by mother’s hands.