Winter

Hold your hands to the blaze;Winter is hereWith the short cold days,Bleak, keen and drear.Was there ever a dayWith hawthorn along the wayWhere you wandered in mild mid-MayWith your dear?

That was when you were youngAnd the world was gold;Now all the songs are sung,The tales all told.You shiver now by the fireWhere the last red sparks expire;Dead are delight and desire:You are old.