Harken! - the clouds musteréd in dark -
So painfully easing.
Hush! - hearest ye the yew doting;
Its yeahrs of yore in a mïre,
Each like a corpse within its grave;
Wrought for us a yeahrn of lief;
´Tisn´t a lore of bale nor loathe;
Harmony & æsthesia are its blisses;
Ne´er ere hath it exist´d so sonorously -
Jostl´d away the pale drape
That us had been o´erhung -
Tempt´d thy shutters to open
And thus quenched the hearth;
Thou giv´st to misery all thou hast: the cold -
With weal embrac´d the sprounting landscape
Like a star of heaven in the broad daylight -
This joy subdueth till it again waneth,
save the drooping winter of stalwart.