Classic Poem

Ere I freeze, to sing bravely
By Mary, is best for me;
I will make a new canto
To the terrible mist and snow,
Steel ground, grass short and withered,
The black month, the shiver-stirred.
I'm not hale here, nor wisely
Sing nor well, alas for me!
Better the awkward Muse might
Run in May or June's sunlight,
When a sweet bird in the thick
Of leaves charms with its music,
And under a birch like heaven
A fool enjoys hugging Gwen,
And his voice in a greenhall
Is found, and a poem's soul.
But not like this, I dare swear,
Does winter stay for ever.
How old it looks, white snowdrift
Hiding every slope and rift,
Everywhere cold, white each tree,
And no stream in the valley.
Water locked, no genial day,
Black frost along the footway;
Birds of the world, sad deadlock—
God's put their food under lock:
The key let Him take home then
Rightly to be kept in heaven!