It's cold, but

I think winter's frost has thawed
long hanging
suspended summer guile.

What's that! Is winter warm and cosy?
With its slippery paths, limbs frozen stiff?
Surely its biting chill, with cheeks rosy,
icicles, goose bumps, and snow drifts.

But it's also snug by the fireside
with snow against the window pane,
and what was that one line? - oh yes,
there's a pleasure that is born of pain!