Not only in spring, down green aisles, Does love walk with us, Not only in summer, When blue waters splash against sunny rocks, Nor in autumn, when dry leaves Blow across a long road . . . Love walks in the winter too, On a city street, through wet snow, In galoshes, under umbrellas, In and out of subways Crowds into shops, around revolving doors, Mounts narrow steps to the tired bus-man, Smiles to the policeman squealing his whistle At a small boy crossing against traffic; Love touches the blindman's elbow at the curb . . . All men, women, children, Passing here, there, everywhere, Love presses after them, anxious Not to be forgotten, Not to be forgotten.