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 tune，

He marked her through the pane，

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 naught to say，

And morning found the breeze

A hundred miles away.

Author： Robert Frost