Shakespeare Sonnet 97

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How like a winter hath my absence been

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From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

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What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

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What old December's bareness every where!

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And yet this time removed was summer's time,

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The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,

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Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,

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Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:

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Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me

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But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;

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For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,

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And, thou away, the very birds are mute;

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Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer

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That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.