As She Passes

By Fernando Pessoa

When I am sitting at the window,

Through the panes, which the snow blurs,

I see the lovely images, hers, as

She passes… passes… passes by…

Over me grief has thrown its veil:-

Less a creature in this world

And one more angel in the sky.

When I am sitting at the window,

Through the panes, which the snow blurs,

I think I see the image, hers,

That's not now passing… not passing by…

Translated by J. Griffin