How jocund is Spring if thou art missing? <br />The nightingales' songs are sweetly sung, <br />Yet, unwarranted, disrupt my musing <br />On which thine apparition is up hung. <br /> <br />And what is Summer lacking thee, my dear? <br />Oft too hot he beams, like a wild fever, <br />Mellowed not by thy fountain pure of love; <br />Without thy fairness his humor is rough. <br /> <br />Wherefore we hail Autumn if not with thee? <br />Her fruits taste sour, after thy sweet lips; <br />Her fruitful harvest is no guarantee, <br />While thou leave'st more to give than stubble-strips. <br /> <br />And Winter- O Winter, the worst of four- <br />Yet, if thou art near, what is that to fear <br />Of her? Her freezing breath and frozen tears? <br />Thy love would the most stiffened passion thaw. <br /> <br />Thou art from Heaven an exclusive gift, <br />Absent which as fifth look the four amiss. <br />But come to me, my love, and let them weep- <br />In my chest thou wilt be safe in thy sleep.<br /><br />Edmund Wong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thou-art-my-fifth-season/
