BITTER FOR SWEET

BITTER FOR SWEET

Summer is gone with all its roses,

    Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers,

Its warm air and refreshing showers:

    And even Autumn closes.

Yea, Autumn’s chilly self is going,

    And Winter comes which is yet colder;

Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder,

    And the last buds cease blowing.