Edna St. Vincent Millay: When the Year grows Old

When the Year grows Old

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I cannot but remember  When the year grows old — October — November —  How she disliked the cold!
She used to watch the swallows  Go down across the sky, And turn from the window  With a little sharp sigh.
And often when the brown leaves  Were brittle on the ground, And the wind in the chimney  Made a melancholy sound,
She had a look about her  That I wish I could forget — The look of a scared thing  Sitting in a net!
Oh, beautiful at nightfall  The soft spitting snow! And beautiful the bare boughs  Rubbing to and fro!
But the roaring of the fire,  And the warmth of fur, And the boiling of the kettle  Were beautiful to her!
I cannot but remember  When the year grows old — October — November —  How she disliked the cold!