"Winter: My Secret"

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I!
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; 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.
Today's a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl,
A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
I cannot ope to everyone who taps,
And let the draughts come whistling thro' my hall;
Come bounding and surrounding me,
Come buffeting, astounding me,
Nipping and clipping thro' 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 the truth untested still.

Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust
March with its peck of dust,
Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,
Nor even May, whose flowers
One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours.

Perhaps some languid summer day,
When drowsy birds sing less and less,
And golden fruit is ripening to excess,
If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud,
And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,
Perhaps my secret I may say,
Or you may guess.


Marsh's only footnote regarding this poem is that in the manuscript, it was originally entitled "Nonsense." This does tell us something, however, about CGR's own take on the poem. The published title, while it may seem somewhat conventional, becomes teasing within the context of the body of the poem.

This is Rossetti at her most playful. Her elusivity - which seems to take on a more desperate tone in other poems - becomes the subject of the poem. She teases the reader, leading them along a path that ultimately leads nowhere - or rather leads back to the subject of the unknowability of the secret itself.

It is tempting with a writer like CGR to look at her poems autobiographically (i.e. confessionally), and yet I think this is a disservice to her as a poet. While she may personally be dealing with issues of morality or longing in her own life - she seems to be speaking on a larger scale. But again that push and pull tempts us to want to check the date of a particular poem against her autobiography to find the "real" meaning behind the text. This poem seems to address that need of readers to find out.

The use of seasons creates an interesting tone: is Winter the secret itself as the title might suggest? It doesn't seem to be. It seems more to represent the idea of one trying to pry the secret from the holder. The reader is winter, against which the poet must cover up, "veil", and "mask" herself. What is more, although the poem is light, the description of winter with its winds paints the picture of a relentlessly annoying attack: nipping, biting, whistling, bounding, surrounding, buffeting, surrounding, nipping, clipping, and pecking. It's not violent, just bothersome to the poet - we may even perceive it more as a problem of the poet, for she answers the readers' protest that they would not peck. Her reply of belief means little, for she leaves the "truth untested still" (l.22). She does not trust winter. By extension, we could say the poet is afraid of letting people in - they are cold and intrusive.

Spring is no better with its transient state: flowers that wither (c.f. to Biblical allusions in the NT. Flowers usually represent the finite. Unlike God's word, flowers will wither and pass away), the weather cannot be trusted.

Only late summer, with its "languid" quality is fit for the poet to reveal her secret. But even here we are teased with a line (30) that sits uneasily, for it describes fruit ripening to excess. The image is lush, but to the point of being sickening (is the fruit rotten?) and looks forward to the fruit imagery of "Goblin Market" written 2 years later. The poet creates a visual suspension: The birds are "drowsy", the wind and warmth are held in a sort of in-between state. Here the poet takes on the laziness of the image: "Perhaps my secret I may say/" (l.33) [my italics]. But the final line - "Or you may guess." is jarring and not at all in keeping with the languid tone developed in the final stanza.

What, then is the secret? Is it the poet herself, wearing a concealing cloak, veil and mask? Or is there no secret at all - the poet teasingly suggests this, not so much to introduce a possibility as to deepen the mystery surrounding the secret. Or perhaps this is merely all a way of discussing the subject of secrets - does the knowledge itself matter as much as the fact that it remains hidden, or known only by a select few? The idea of the secret - the fact that something is unknowable, tantalizes our curiosity. This is the essence of a secret. If known, there is no secret, only a fact or idea. By not telling us, the secret - Rossetti (almost sadistically) creates mystery. This idea is not a new 0ne for CGR, but it has never been so fully explored and "teased" out. She still creates the tension - she wants us to know, but she doesn't want us to know. Again to assume that the secret is something specific in the poet's life is to miss the point of the poem. Rather the poem allows us the damnable pleasure of not knowing.