YESTERDAY the fields were only grey with scattered snow, And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge; Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go On towards the pines at the hills' white verge. I cannot see her, since the mist's white scarf Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky; But she's waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh. Why does she come so promptly, when she must know That she's only the nearer to the inevitable farewell; The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow -- Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CURIOSITY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A SEA STORY by EMILY HENRIETTA HICKEY EPITAPHIUM CITHARISTRIAE by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR A SOUL; A STUDY by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 97 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE EPIPSYCHIDION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AN AUTOGRAPH (1) by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |