Lovers， forget your love，

　　And listen to the love of these，

　　She a window flower，

　　And he a winter breeze.

　　When the frosty window veil

　　Was melted down at noon，

　　And the caged yellow bird

　　Hung over her in tune¹，

　　He marked her through the pane²，

　　He could not help but mark，

　　And only passed her by

　　To come again at dark.

　　He was a winter wind，

　　Concerned with ice and snow，

　　Dead weeds and unmated birds，

　　And little of love could know.

　　But he sighed upon the sill，

　　He gave the sash a shake，

　　As witness all within

　　Who lay that night awake.

　　Per chance he half prevailed

　　To win her for the flight

　　From the firelit looking-glass

　　And warm stove-window light.

　　But the flower leaned aside

　　And thought of naught³ to say，

　　And morning found the breeze

　　A hundred miles away.

　　Author： Robert Frost