Traditional

It is not icy blasts that freeze my face,
Nor melting snow that makes me seem to cry.
No cloud contained those liquid drops that trace
Their frigid path, 'til they solidify.
I cannot blame the winter for the chill
That hugs my bones too tightly, nor complain
When feeling frozen, as I know I will,
Of wind that cuts through me. None of my pain
Derives from icicles weighing me down
Or pressing sharply into my poor chest;
No lack of insulation makes me frown,
Nor does a tempest rob me of my rest.
It is your absence that I ought to scold;
Taking yourself away has made me cold.