Winter: my Secret by Christina Georgina Rossetti

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: / Perhaps some day, who knows? / But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows, / And you're too curious: fie! / You want to hear it? well: / Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there's none: / Suppose there is no secret after all, / But only just my fun. / To-day's a nipping day, a biting day; / In which one wants a shawl, / A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: / I cannot ope to every one who taps, / And let the draughts come whistling through my hall; / Come bounding and surrounding me, / Come buffeting, astounding me, / Nipping and clipping through my wraps and all. / I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows / His nose to Russian snows / To be pecked at by every wind that blows? / You would not peck? I thank you for good-will, / Believe, but leave that truth untested still.