Classic Poem

I love thee, Winter, son of the stern North;
And much delight to bask by thy heaped fire,
And hear thy out-door minstrels hoarsely choir
Songs for thy Christmas mirth; and much am loth
To leave thy chimney-nook, when winds rush forth,
Sudden as clamorous brawlers, and long time tire
The peace-fond Night with noise. Thou dost inspire
Thoughts warmer than Summer's; and feelings worth
Vast tomes of summer-verse—promptings of love,
That teach the humane wealthy the disparity
'Tween poor and rich, and weal and want, and move
Their hearts to ruth—their hands to charity. . . . .
For this, may Spring, th' usurper, give no pain;
But render thee due praise, though he dispute thy reign.