MAY, blighted by keen frosts, passed on to June
No blooms, but many a stalk with drooping leaves,
And arid Summer wilted these full soon,
And Autumn gathered up no wealthy sheaves;
Plaintive October saddened for the year,
But wild November raged that hope was past,
Shrieking, "All days of life are made how drear—
Mad whirl of snow! and Death comes driving fast."
Yet sane December, when the winds fell low,
And cold, calm light with sunshine tinkled clear,