Written
in
Winter
.
Now
o'er
the
fading
landscape
all
around
His
silver
mantle
hoary
Winter
spreads
:
No
more
the
groves
with
melody
resound
,
No
cheerful
herbage
crowns
the
lonely
meads
.
Bleak
blows
the
wind
o'er
yon
deserted
plain
;
While
lowering
clouds
obscure
the
wintry
sky
,
And
sickening
Nature
sees
with
tender
pain
The
flowery
progeny
of
Summer
die
.
Thus
,
in
warm
youth
,
vain
Beauty's
fleeting
power
Charms
for
a
moment
Love's
fantastic
eye
;
Old
Age
or
Sickness
crops
the
short-liv'd
flower
,
And
wither'd
all
its
brightest
honours
lie
.
But
Virtue
,
arm'd
against
Time's
rudest
blast
,
Shall
,
like
the
laurel
,
ever
verdant
last
.