How Like A Winter Hath My Absence Been From Thee, The Pleasure Of The Fleeting Year! What Freezings Have I Felt, What Dark Days Seen! What Old December'S Bareness Everywhere! And Yet This Time Removed Was Summer'S Time; The Teeming Autumn, Big With Rich Increase, Bearing The Wanton Burden Of The Prime, Like Widow'D Wombs After Their Lords' Decease: Yet This Abundant Issue Seem'D To Me But Hope Of Orphans, And Unfather'D Fruit; For Summer And His Pleasures Wait On Thee, And, Thou Away, The Very Birds Are Mute: Or, If They Sing, 'Tis With So Dull A Cheer, That Leaves Look Pale, Dreading The Winter'S Near.