About three months ago, when
Upon our open,
And freezing garden snowstorms
In sudden fury,
I
That I would shut myself
And in seclusion write a
Of winter poems, day by day,
To supplement my spring collection.
But nonsense piled up mountain-high,
Like snow-drifts hindering and
And half the winter had gone by,
Against all hopes, in petty trifling.
I understood, alas, too
Why winter-while the snow was falling,
Piercing the darkness with its flakes-From outside at my house was calling;
And while with numb white-frozen
It whispered, urging me to hurry,
I sharpened pencils, played with clips,
Made feeble jokes and did not worry.
While at my desk I dawdled
By lamp-light on an early morning,
The winter had appeared and gone-A wasted and unheeded warning.
