Improvisations: Light And Snow: 09

This girl gave her heart to me, And this, and this. This one looked at me as if she loved me, And silently walked away. This one I saw once and loved, and never saw her again. Shall I count them for you upon my fingers? Or like a priest solemnly sliding beads? Or pretend they are roses, pale pink, yellow, and white, And arrange them for you in a wide bowl To be set in sunlight? See how nicely it sounds as I count them for you — ‘This girl gave her heart to me And this, and this, . . . ! And nevertheless, my heart breaks when I think of them, When I think their names, And how, like leaves, they have changed and blown And will lie, at last, forgotten, Under the snow.