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.