Winter, sir, no child hath its chains
Or weighed heart, to conjoin
With days' servitude, gagged and glum.
Death's paleness stiffened in.
A cruel mocking indifference!
With wholesome apples' blush.
Makes light sport of, snowman-making!
More laughingly, sled-slush!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem