Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/168

 Soft snows that hard winds harden Till each flake bite Fill all the flowerless garden Whose flowers took flight Long since when summer ceased, And men rose up from feast, And warm west wind grew east, and warm day night.

"Come snow, come wind or thunder High up in air, I watch my face, and wonder At my bright hair; Nought else exalts or grieves The rose at heart, that heaves With love of her own leaves and lips that pair.

"She knows not loves that kissed her She knows not where. Art thou the ghost, my sister, White sister there, Am I the ghost, who knows? My hand, a fallen rose, Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.

"I cannot see what pleasures Or what pains were;