Eugene Gladstone O'Neill

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!