To Thomas Woolner

First Snow, February WOOLNER, to-night it snows for the first time. Our feet know well the path where in this snow Mine leave one track: how all the ways we know Are hoary in the long-unwonted rime! Grey as their ghosts which now in your new clime Must haunt you while those singing spirits reap All night the field of hospitable sleep— Whose song, past the whole sea, finds counter-chime. Can the year change, and I not think of thee, With whom so many changes of the year So many years were watched—our love's degree Alone the same? Ah still for thee and me, Winter or summer, Woolner, here or there, One grief, one joy, one loss, one victory.