| Citation |
VGW(HU.767.118
31 Dec 1767:13 (867)
ON WINTER.
I.
Now winter comes with hasty pace,
And strips the fields of every grace;
The tiers lament their glories past,
And bend before the rushing blast.
From the fair flower the colour flies;
Drooping, it hangs the head and dies,
But why should I this theme pursue,
Or why this desolation view?
I quit the gloom and turn my eyes
To see what beauties yet can rise;
Come on! [ ] Winter, with thy sable train,
Thy [ ]pass, and Spring return again.
. . . [6 more verses]
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