Carol and Cadence :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ah, Winter, stern king,
What ails thee at Spring?
Why mak'st thou the Prime
Thus drear?
Who willed thee o'ercast,
With thy snows and thy blast,
The blossoming-time
Of the year?

The limes are in leaf;
But thine East wind, the thief,
The tassels hath torn
From the ash:
And now, in the night,
Is a frost come, to blight
The buds of the thorn
Over-rash.

Sure, all is not right
With the day and the night,
With the way that the world goes
Entire,
When Spring must in May
Turn from Winter away,
To warm its cold nose
At the fire!