How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year
What freezing have I felt, what dark days seen
With old December's bareness everywhere.
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time
The teeming Autumn big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their Lord's decease.
Yet this abundant issue seemd to me,
But hope of Orphans, and unfathered fruit,
For Summer and his 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 winters near
(W. Shakespeare)
