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A Winters Tale

Written by: David Herbert Lawrence | Biography
 | Quotes (99) |
 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?



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