YE Storms, resound the praises of your King! And ye mild Seasons -- in a sunny clime, Midway on some high hill, while father Time Looks on delighted -- meet in festal ring, And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing! Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers, Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers, And the dire flapping of his hoary wing! Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass; With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain; Whisper it to the billows of the main, And to the aerial zephyrs as they pass, That old decrepit Winter -- 'He' hath slain That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS by MATTHEW ARNOLD MOTLEY by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE DANCE OF THE SEVIN DEIDLY SYNNIS by WILLIAM DUNBAR A TRIBUTE OF GRASSES by HAMLIN GARLAND RISE, GLORIOUS CONQUEROR! RISE by MATTHEW BRIDGES HIS NAME WAS KEKO by THEODORE BRIDGMAN |