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.