From you have I been absent in the spring, \ When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, \ Hath put a spirit of youth in everything... (W. Shakespeare)

That time of year thou mayst in me behold \ When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang \ Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, \ Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

(W. Shakespeare)

Full many a glorious morning have I seen \ Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, \ Kissing with golden face the meadows green, \ Gilding pale steams with heavenly alchymy, \ Anon permit the clouds to ride \ With ugly rack on his celestial face.... (W. Shakespeare)