Classic Poem

To Phil: Wood at London Ode

Time hath its Seasons. Soe hath Love
For evry absence or remove
 Frends from ech other make
I take
To be the winter Tropick wherin Dayes
In Frend-ships Zodiack shortned severall wayes
 These future Comforts raise
  That by return they'l bring
The happy tidings of a joyfull Spring

 The wool-pack Clouds of Fleesy snow
 That threaten us a Storm below
  And Blanketings to cover
All over
The Damask of the meads And fields soe green
Til neither grass, nor flowr, nor blade be seen
  What doe they other mean?
  Than that when once blown ore
The fragrancies by much will seem the more

 I cannot tel (my Phill) when we
 Broak ofe our Late society
  And Burley emptied was
A-las
But that the months all backward seemd to stray
The weather Lowrd and night prevaild ore day
  Contentment to betray
  Yet let a word or Letter
Signe a returne we shall be pleased better

 Then what remaines of us as yet
 Condemnd to winters stormy swet
  Under deprivements skoar
Noe more
Of June or lulies summer feel I swear
Than Those within the Artike Circle, wher
  They'r 'frended with the Bear
  Unless some quick reprive
Huisher us hopes of Heat to make us live