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From a secret admirer, after Robert Frost's, stopping by woods on a snowy evening
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Whose gift this is you cannot know? My heart is in your keeping, though
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You will not mind my writing here to tell you that I love you so
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I know that you must think it queer for me to love and not come near, but linger by some
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frozen lake, this most romantic time of year. I sometimes give my head a shake, and ask if there
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is some mistake. It's lonely out here, mid the sweep of bitter wind and icy flake. My love for you
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is dark and deep, but it's a promise I will keep, as from afar I watch and weep, as from afar I watch and we
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As from afar I watch and weep
