Classic Poem

Lest your trees should turn yellow and shrink from the cold
Or too biting an air on their branches get hold,
Glass casements face south, keeping chill winds away,
And let in the sunlight and undefiled day:
But my garret's window has just one cracked pane
Where Boreas himself would not care to remain.
Do you wish your old friend to stay there till he freeze?
I should be better off as the guest of your trees.