David Herbert Lawrence
David Herbert Lawrence Poems
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
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— ...
When did you start your tricks
What do you stand on such high legs for?
Why this length of shredded shank
Is it so that you shall lift your centre of gravity upwards
And weigh no more than air as you alight upon me,