And now we dance another year
and tread the life we hold most dear.

I go under gold with its silver twin
looking for a door that will let me in:

a rain of light in a moated flood
with an iron quick that will heal the blood:

a neb, a lift, a sweet lissing,
a dearling maid that is sweet for kissing.

It may be late or it may be soon,
I shall lay me down in the midst of the moon:

as I cut off a finger and kindle a son
my God bless the bed that I lie on!