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!