Chapter XVIII: Winter Song

Oh, it's winter, winter, when you're here,
And summer when you're gone.
What need of birds when hearts sing clear,
From dusk of day to dawn?

The noble wind, the silver snow,
High stars, and, best of all,
The red-rose hearth--a golden glow
When twilight curtains fall.

Who'd cry the heat of summer skies,
The bare, despairing sun,
The languid flowers, with closing eyes,
The earth's fair wooing done?

The possibilities of spring,
The reticence of bliss,
Love with the winter's argent wing,
We'll scorn the sun for this.