Classic Poem

See, Chloris, how the cloudes
Tilte in the azure lists,
And how with Stygian mists
Each horned hill his giant forehead shroudes;
Ioue thundreth in the aire,
The aire, growne great with raine,
Now seemes to bring Deucalion's dayes againe:
I see thee quake; come, let vs home repaire,
Come hide thee in mine armes,
If not for loue, yet to shunne greater harmes.