12. A Winter's Tale. Lawrence, D.H. 1916. Amores

D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.

12. A Winter’s Tale


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	5
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;	10
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow—
Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?