David Herbert Lawrence

(11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930 / Nottinghamshire / England)

A Winter's Tale - Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

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?

Comments about A Winter's Tale by David Herbert Lawrence

  • Gold Star - 46,883 Points Edward Kofi Louis (1/2/2015 8:51:00 AM)

    Nice piece of work. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

    E.K.L. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • Gold Star - 45,206 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (6/26/2014 12:06:00 AM)

    Magnificent poem and very hearty to read it. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: snow, farewell, dark, sky, winter

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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