How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old Decembers bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removd was summers time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widowd wombs after their lords decease:
Yet this abundant issue seemd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;
For summer and his pleasure 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.