From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!


What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!


What old December's bareness every where!


And yet this time removed was summer's time,


The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,


Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,


Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease


Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me


But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;


For summer and hi pleasures wait on thee,


And, thou away, the very birds are mute;


Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer


That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.