---

Eugene Field - A Roman Winter-Piece
Work rating: Low

See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow,
  Soracte mocks the sullen sky;
How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed,
  And chained with frost the rivers lie.

Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth;
  We`ll melt away the envious cold:
And, better yet, sweet friend, we`ll wet
  Our whistles with some four-year-old.

Commit all else unto the gods,
  Who, when it pleaseth them, shall bring
To fretful deeps and wooded steeps
  The mild, persuasive grace of Spring.

Let not To-morrow, but To-day,
  Your ever active thoughts engage;
Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling,
  Unharmed, unawed of crabbed Age.

Let`s steal content from Winter`s wrath,
  And glory in the artful theft,
That years from now folks shall allow
  `T was cold indeed when we got left.

So where the whisperings and the mirth
  Of girls invite a sportive chap,
Let`s fare awhile,--aha, you smile;
  You guess my meaning,--_verbum sap_.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.