That I am subject to intemperate change

And victim to fate’s whimsy or fate’s spite

Seems strangely undeserved of late.

Sometimes, when all is well, I wish the sun

Would ne’er set swiftly on that day;

And night, dark night forget to call.

For I am dragged relentlessly each year

Through winter’s death, and then to be restored

In spring’s resurgent breath and there,

B...

Read and leave comments (0)