Winter Trees is a 1971 posthumous collection of poetry by Sylvia Plath, published by her husband Ted Hughes.[1][2] Along with Crossing the Water it provides the remainder of the poems that Plath had written during her state of elevated creativity prior to her suicide.
White winter trees
Covered in snow
I don’t mind
I don’t mind
I think of you now
Here in the cold
You won’t mind
You won’t know
But I never meant to say
Any of those things
Oh I never meant to tell you how
To be or how to think
Oh I was wrong
Heavy of heart
Weary of soul
You won’t mind
You won’t mind
I think of him now
Fathoms below
You won’t mind
You won’t know
But I never meant to say
Any of those things
Words can sound so cruel
When you speak before you think
Oh I was wrong
But you didn’t understand
That my heart was in your hands
You were so blind
(
)
I promised you that I’d never let you down
Oh but I couldn’t love you any less than now
And I promised you that I’d never let you down
Oh but I couldn’t love you any less than I do now
And I lost myself on that November night
White winter trees
Covered in snow
I don’t mind