A woman has just declared that when her lover arrives, she will send him away—“body and baggage”—no matter how dark or cold the night is. But the moment he actually appears, dark-haired and cheerful, with his head thrown back and his lips parted, her resolve collapses. Instead of pushing him out into the snow, she picks a stray hair from his coat and sobs against his chest.
The poem captures how firm intentions can dissolve in the presence of someone we still love. The title “Caprice” points to that sudden, almost irrational reversal: anger or pride gives way to tenderness and relief. The mood is intimate and wintry, mixing the harshness of the snowy night outside with the warmth of her surrender inside. It is a small, human moment about the gap between what we promise ourselves and what the heart actually does.