March Poem, with Bleak Weather / Robert Hunter

Let there be men at windows grieving,
sorrowing today;
This threading rain is nearly snow,
and all the world is grey.

Let men at windows agonize;
let mournful women sigh;
And let me catch their utterings
as I come walking by—

My hands are wet, and stiff with ice,
but let me only see
The sorrowful at windowpanes
before they notice me—

Let her sighs fall on my right hand,
with heat of humid breath,—
And give his bloodwarmed grumblings here
to thaw my frigid left.

Let all who stare from windows weep!
I only love it more!
And dream of that old soggy way
where all have gone before.