Who tried hard to suit her,
"Your suitor is suited to suit."
FAREWELL SNOW.
(After Walt Whitman.)
That light, that white, that weird, uncanny substance we call snow
Is slowly sifting through the bare branches—and ever and anon
My thoughts sift with the drifting snow, and I am full of pale regret.
Yes, full of pale regret and other things—you know what I mean.
And why? Because the snow must go; the time has came to part.
Yes, it cannot wait much longer—like the flakes my thoughts are melting