Lovers, forget your love,
And List to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the caged yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again in the dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds.
And little of love could know
But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
-Robert Frost
1 comment:
I thought it was you writing, but then it was frost.
Thanks for sharing this poem.
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