Lovers, forget your love,
     And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
     And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
     Was melted down at noon,
And the caged yellow bird
     Hung over her in tune,
He marked her though the pane,
     He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by
     To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
     Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
     And little of love could know.
But he signed upon the sill,
     He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
     Who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
     To win her for the flight
From the firelight looking—glass
     And warm stove—window light.
But the flower leaned aside
     And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
     A hundred miles away.

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