WINTER; AN ODE.

No more the morn, with tepid rays,

Unfolds the flower of various hue;

Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,

Nor gentle eve distils the dew.

The lingering hours prolong the night,

Usurping darkness shares the day;

Her mists restrain the force of light,

And Phœbus holds a doubtful sway.