I

The slanted storm tossed at their feet The frost-nipped autumn leaves; The park's high pines were caked with sleet, And ice-spears armed the eaves. They strolled adown the pillared pines, To part where wet and twisted vines About the gate-posts blew and beat. She watched him riding through the rain Along the river's misty shore, And turned with lips that laughed disdain: "To meet no more!"