Tirol In Late Autumn

I recall the soft white pastures Etched out between the fells, Which spilled their darker tones Down slopes like forest groupings. I recall the unique gestures Of snowflakes in the breeze Metallic Matin bells Now ringing through the trees. And on the window panes Frost spread its bony hands, Its print of bones outside, Its admittance still denied. Cow bells echoed and the whistle blew As soon the morning train Chugged up the slopes from Innsbruck Towards the Mutteralm. A Lady passed and said " Gruss Gott." And I returned her greeting. Her cheeks were blossoming with cold As I recall that meeting. And briefly did I turn As her footsteps etched the meadow.