"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!