After the Interval

About three months ago, when first

Upon our open, unprotected

And freezing garden snowstorms burst

In sudden fury, I reflected

That I would shut myself away

And in seclusion write a section

Of winter poems, day by day,

To supplement my spring collection.

But nonsense piled up mountain-high,

Like snow-drifts hindering and stifling

And half the winter had gone by,

Against all hopes, in petty trifling.

I understood, alas, too late

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 lips

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 on

By lamp-light on an early morning,

The winter had appeared and gone-

A wasted and unheeded warning.