Blue-Eyed, My Girl

I never walk through unmolested snow
  new-fallen, fresh and smooth
I drag my load through every perfect part
  in violent sprint

Looking back I seem to see her heart

I look back only once and don't return;
It's to return, of course, that my heart yearns.

I hate the path, so servile to my use
  obliging, resolute
Made not by human hand but underfoot
  with loving tread and course

I've little but disdain for swollen words.

I do not see her careful steps
I do not hear her softed breath
I cannot sense her welcome scent
I looked back only once - I don't return.

The snow is falling by her hand
The path is meeting her demand
A thoughtless step - I'm falling by her hand
Oh, to remember falling by her hand!

This bliss in resting, fallen by her hand.