And yet this time removed was summer time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase ...
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,
(Sonnet 97.)
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,