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