Sonnet 2: Can anything be colder than winter?

Can anything be colder than a day When clouds of winter make the sun’s embrace Become a shadow of its former grace And summer’s verdure gives in to decay; When snow like burial garments shrouds the hay, Bleak nature trudges with a mournful pace; The winter’s gusts make sharp cuts on the face With blades concealed, as though designed to flay? Yet, when love’s ardent flame burns out in vain, The silence answers all unselfish pleas, The tired wings can’t find their resting nest, Not even death can ease the inner pain. Thus, winter’s cold feels like a summer’s breeze Compared to what remains inside my chest.