Poetry Archives

For a name unknown,
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
   For ever and aye;

For her who hears
The stir of the years
Go by on the wind
   By night and day;

And heeds no thing
Of the needs of Spring,
Of Autumn’s wonder
   Or Winter’s chill;

For one who sees
The great sun freeze,
As he wanders a-cold
   From hill to hill;

And all her heart
Is a woven part
Of the flurry and drift
   Of whirling snow;

For the sake of two
Sad eyes and true,
And the old, old love
   So long ago.