Classic Poem

With blustrous winds though storms awhile do rage
Insuing comfort, Muses do presage,
Likely to follow; for the stormes once past,
Likely calmes come to comfort us at last:
In winter sap within the roots as hiding,
Admits no thew of loy to trees betiding,
Making them drop their leaves, and comfortlesse

Stand for a time as if without redresse;
Perceiving of the spring though backe returning,
En which attendant doth require from morning,
Now will the sap recline with Ioy againe,
Cheerly will each tree leaves thereon retaine;
Ev'n so your handmaid prayes, my winter past,
Rightly serene my summer dayes may last.