Classic Poem

WHEN winds blow cold,
O'er the desolate wold,
And the spendthrift maple squanders its gold;
And over the meadow so sober and seared,
October comes up with a frost on his beard;
Then a curious fancy comes into my head,
And I say to myself, " It were better to wed:
For the summer of life will be speedily past,
But the love of a woman abides to the last; "
For a ghost of the future perplexes my mind,
And I shudder to hear the winter wind,
And a Bachelor's life is folly, I wot,
And I am to aweary to marry!

But when pastures are new,
And the heavens are true,
And the violet opens her wimple of blue,
And the sunshine is warm in the long forest aisles,
And the peach-orchards sweeten the highway for miles, —
Then a different fancy possesses my head,
And I smile that I ever should think I could wed!
For thoughts of the future to fortune I cast,
As I lounge in the daises and dream of the past;
For the spring-time returneth so constant and kind,
But maids are fickle as summer wind,
And a Bachelor's life is jolly, I wot,
And I am too merry to marry!