Be what it may—I'll not complain—
I'll wear the mull, and put away
This old and faded-out delaine!
Despite her prayers the heated spell
Descended not on mead and wold—
Instead of turning hot as—well,
The weather turned severely cold,
The Lake dashed up its icy spray
And breathed its chill o'er all the plain—
Cynthia stays at home all day