It is night time, and cold, and snow is falling, br And no wind grieves the walls. br In the small world of light around the arc-lamp br A swarm of snowflakes falls and falls. br The street grows silent. The last stranger passes. br The sound of his feet, in the snow, is indistinct. br What forgotten sadness is it, on a night like this, br Takes possession of my heart? br Why do I think of a camellia tree in a southern garden, br With pink blossoms among dark leaves, br Standing, surprised, in the snow? br Why do I think of spring? br The snowflakes, helplessly veering,, br Fall silently past my window; br They come from darkness and enter darkness.