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Robert Southey - Ode Written On The First Of December
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Tho` now no more the musing ear
Delights to listen to the breeze
That lingers o`er the green wood shade,
  I love thee Winter! well.

Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,
Sweet is the summer`s evening gale,
Pleasant the autumnal winds that shake
  The many-colour`d grove.

And pleasant to the sober`d soul
The silence of the wintry scene,
When Nature shrouds her in her trance

Not undelightful now to roam
The wild heath sparkling on the sight;
Not undelightful now to pace
  The forest`s ample rounds;

And see the spangled branches shine,
And mark the moss of many a hue
That varies the old tree`s brown bark,
  Or o`er the grey stone spreads.

The cluster`d berries claim the eye
O`er the bright hollies gay green leaves,
The ivy round the leafless oak
  Clasps its full foliage close.

So VIRTUE diffident of strength
Clings to RELIGION`S firmer aid,
And by RELIGION`S aid upheld
  Endures calamity.

Nor void of beauties now the spring,
Whose waters hid from summer sun
Have sooth`d the thirsty pilgrim`s ear
  With more than melody.

The green moss shines with icey glare,
The long grass bends its spear-like form,
And lovely is the silvery scene
  When faint the sunbeams smile.

Reflection too may love the hour
When Nature, hid in Winter`s grave,
No more expands the bursting bud
  Or bids the flowret bloom.

For Nature soon in Spring`s best charms
Shall rise reviv`d from Winter`s grave.
Again expand the bursting bud,
  And bid the flowret bloom.
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