As I walked through the lamplit gardens, <br />On the thin white crust of snow, <br />So intensely was I thinking of my misfortune, <br />So clearly were my eyes fixed <br />On the face of this grief which has come to me, <br />That I did not notice the beautiful pale colouring <br />Of lamplight on the snow; <br />Nor the interlaced long blue shadows of trees; <br />And yet these things were there, <br />And the white lamps, and the orange lamps, and the lamps of lilac were there, <br />As I have seen them so often before; <br />As they will be so often again <br />Long after my grief is forgotten. <br />And still, though I know this, and say this, it cannot console me.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/improvisations-light-and-snow-11/
