Jean Ingelow was a popular Victorian poet. She was born in Boston, Lincolnshire, where her father was a banker. She described her childhood as "bright and joyous," and her many brothers and sisters as "'droll, full of mirth and clever."

Her first work was published when she was thirty. In l863 she published her first volume of "Poems," which ran through several editions and established her popularity.

She made her home in London after becoming a recognized authoress. Being a very charitable lady, for several years she gave dinners three times a week to twelve needy persons who had recently been released from the hospital.

Her last years were passed in Kensington, where she died on July 20, 1897.

The song was sung at the Gloucester Musical Festival of 1868 by Sims Reeves, accompanied by Sullivan. The Times reported that it obtained a genuine and well-deserved success and continued "The song was found charming, the singing perfect; and to decline the "encore" which followed would have been ungracious; so that once more the enemy of encores had to make an exception to what few will be disposed to deny is a "golden rule".

MIDI File [13K, 3' 06"]

Score [369K]

The snow lies white and the moon gives light I'll out to the freezing mere, And ease my heart with one little song, For none will be nigh to hear For none will be nigh to hear. And it's O my love, my love! And it's O my dear, my dear! It's of her that I'll sing till the wild woods ring, When nobody's nigh to hear. It's of her that I'll sing till the wild woods ring, When nobody's nigh to hear. My love is young, she is young, is young, When she laughs the dimple dips; We walk'd in the wind, and her long locks blew Till sweetly they touch'd my lips, Till sweetly they touch'd my lips. And I'll out to the freezing mere, Where the stiff reeds whistle so low, And I'll tell my mind to the friendly wind Because I have lov'd her so- Because I have lov'd her so-

Ay, and she's true, my lady is true!
And that's the best of it all;
And when she blushes my heart so yearns
That tears are ready to fall
Tears are ready to fall.
And it's O my love, my love!
And it's O my dear, my dear!
It's of her that I sing till the wild woods ring,
When nobody's nigh to hear
It's of her that I sing till the wild woods ring,
When nobody's nigh to hear.

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