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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364058" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Winter's Tale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=364058" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow, <br>And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge; <br>Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go <br>On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge. <br> <br>I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf<br>Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky; <br>But she’s waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half <br>Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh. <br> <br>Why does she come so promptly, when she must know <br>That she’s only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;<br>The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow— <br>Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=David+Herbert+Lawrence">David Herbert Lawrence</a></strong></div>

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