Dreary Winter’s Soul
Hold! Hold! Hold!
See, all the dead Leaves are sold,
But for every dread soul
Here, there, nowhere — an only hole,
And I'm selling this truth.
Fold! Fold! Fold!
All the wearies and mighty cold;
The Majors are having sleep,
But the broken bodies are yet to flip
From the fairy Youth.
Told! Told! Told!
The freezy winter's every mold,
Not to collect Grays in a bowl,
And let not dive the every dreary role
From the very smooth.
Scold! Scold! Scold!
To every prejudice is controlled,
As night is far measured with owl,
And his very long, fine, scary scowl
Is truly failed to soothe.
Old! Old! Old!
Still, it is my solemn uphold:
Remove rumours, remove remorse,
And fill the bellies with detailed source,
Being a perfect sleuth.
Dare this only to endure and to behold;
My swear — not to enroll in blazing gold.
