Winter: My Secret

7Or, after all, perhaps there's none:

8Suppose there is no secret after all,

9But only just my fun.

10Today's a nipping day, a biting day;

11In which one wants a shawl,

12A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:

13I cannot ope to every one who taps,

14And let the draughts come whistling thro' my hall;

15Come bounding and surrounding me,

16Come buffeting, astounding me,

17Nipping and clipping thro' my wraps and all.

18I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows

19His nose to Russian snows

20To be pecked at by every wind that blows?

21You would not peck? I thank you for good will,

22Believe, but leave that truth untested still.

23Spring's and expansive time: yet I don't trust

24March with its peck of dust,

25Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,

26Nor even May, whose flowers

27One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours.

28Perhaps some languid summer day,

29When drowsy birds sing less and less,

30And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

31If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud,

32And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

33Perhaps my secret I may say,

34Or you may guess.