Classic Poem

Hence, thou untimely blast!
Winter's iron reign is past,—
Hence, like the hoary monarch, sleep;
Nor with thine icy wing
Thus rudely sweep
The fragrant chaplet from the brow of spring.
In pity spare
Her promis'd fruit,—her opening flowers,—
Nor, wildly rushing through her bowers,
The interwoven branches tear.
Shrinking within their verdant beds,
The timid roses hide their blushing heads;
They rest secure,
Till waked thy Zephyrus' kisses, warm and pure;
While the fair progeny of May,
Beneath thy chilling breath decay!
Hence, thou untimely blast,
To caverns drear;
Nor thus, when Winter's iron reign is past,
Of vernal charms despoil the year.