YE Storms, resound the praises of your King! And ye mild Seasons -- in a sunny clime, Midway on some high hill, while father Time Looks on delighted -- meet in festal ring, And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing! Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers, Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers, And the dire flapping of his hoary wing! Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass; With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain; Whisper it to the billows of the main, And to the aerial zephyrs as they pass, That old decrepit Winter -- 'He' hath slain That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABYSS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF AESCHYLUS by AESCHYLUS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 11. ON LOVE - TO A FRIEND by MARK AKENSIDE BLACK ROSES by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. THE GIRL'S LAMENTATION by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TWELVE SONNETS: 11. FIRST, BATTLE; THEN, WOMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |