ACROSS the flat and the pastel snow <br />Two people go . . . . 'And do you remember <br />When last we wandered this shore?' . . . 'Ah no! <br />For it is cold-hearted December.' <br />'Dead, the leaves that like asses's ears hung on the trees <br />When last we wandered and squandered joy here; <br />Now Midas your husband will listen for these <br />Whispers--these tears for joy's bier.' <br />And as they walk, they seem tall pagodas; <br />And all the ropes let down from the cloud <br />Ring the hard cold bell-buds upon the trees--codas <br />Of overtones, ecstasies, grown for love's shroud<br /><br />Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-the-lake/
