Improvisations: Light And Snow: 11

As I walked through the lamplit gardens,

On the thin white crust of snow,

So intensely was I thinking of my misfortune,

So clearly were my eyes fixed

On the face of this grief which has come to me,

That I did not notice the beautiful pale colouring

Of lamplight on the snow;

Nor the interlaced long blue shadows of trees;

And yet these things were there,

And the white lamps, and the orange lamps, and the lamps of lilac were there,

As I have seen them so often before;

As they will be so often again

Long after my grief is forgotten.

And still, though I know this, and say this, it cannot console me.