Winter My Secret

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows and snows
And you’re too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell

Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:
Suppose there is no secret after all
But only just my fun
Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl
A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
I cannot ope to everyone who taps
And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;
Come bounding and surrounding me
Come buffeting, astounding me
Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows
His nose to Russian snows
To be pecked at by every wind that blows?
You would not peck? I thank you for good will
Believe, but leave the truth untested still

Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust
March with its peck of dust
Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers
Nor even May, whose flowers
One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours

Perhaps some languid summer day
When drowsy birds sing less and less
And golden fruit is ripening to excess
If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud
And the warm wind is neither still nor loud
Perhaps my secret I may say
Or you may guess