Classic Poem

To the Winter.

Why dost thou looke so pale, decripit man?
Why doe thy cheeks curle like the Ocean,
Into such furrowes? Why dost thou appeare
So shaking like an ague to the yeare?
The Sunne is gone. But yet Castara stayes,
And will adde stature to thy Pigmy dayes,
Warme moysture to thy veynes: her smile can bring
Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the Spring.
Hence with thy palsie then, and on thy head
Weare flowrie chaplets as a bridegroome led
To th' holy Fane. Banish thy aged ruth,
That Virgins may admire and court thy youth.
 And the approaching Sunne when he shall finde
 A Spring without him, fall, since uselesse, blinde.

To the Winter.

Why dost thou looke so pale, decripit man?
Why doe thy cheeks curle like the Ocean,
Into such furrowes? Why dost thou appeare
So shaking like an ague to the yeare?
The Sunne is gone. But yet Castara stayes,
And will adde stature to thy Pigmy dayes,
Warme moysture to thy veynes: her smile can bring
Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the Spring.
Hence with thy palsie then, and on thy head
Weare flowrie chaplets as a bridegroome led
To th' holy Fane. Banish thy aged ruth,
That Virgins may admire and court thy youth.
 And the approaching Sunne when he shall finde
 A Spring without him, fall, since uselesse, blinde.