To Winter "Blow, blow, thou winter wind." Away from here, And I shall greet thy passing breath Without a tear. I do not love thy snow and sleet Or icy flows; When I must jump or stamp to warm My freezing toes. For why should I be happy or E'en be merry, In weather only fitted for Cook or Peary. My eyes are red, my lips are blue My ears frost bitt'n; Thy numbing kiss doth e'en extend Thro' my mitten. I am cold, no matter how I warm Or clothe me; O Winter, greater bards have sung I loathe thee! |
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