Would I e'er compare thee to an autumn's eve
With forests of fiery hues?
Or to a winter's birth
As shards of angels' wings so slowly fall?
Or to a spring's breath
That blossoms all that lives and breathes?
Or to a summer's sun-kissed daydream
Dreamt in fields of grasses tall?
It appears thou art so full of life
There beeth not a reason,
To compare thy being or thy love
To any living season.
Autumn rests in thine auburn hair,
Winter chills thy cheeks so fair,
Spring awakens in thy laughter,
And summer sunlight with thine eyes doth share.
I would not compare thee to any day
Or any time of year,
For all my days are lovely
An I have my love near.

- p. winter