Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950). Renascence and Other Poems. 1917.
17. When the Year Grows Old
I
When the year grows old—
October—November—
How she disliked the cold!
Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
With a little sharp sigh.
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound.
That I wish I could forget—
The look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!
The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and fro!
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!
When the year grows old—
October—November—
How she disliked the cold!