How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old Decemberʼs bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summerʼs time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widowʼd wombs after their lordsʼ decease:
Yet this abundant issue seemʼd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfatherʼd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, ʼtis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winterʼs near.