OLD Winter, with his frosty beard, <br />Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: <br />"What have I done of all the year, <br />To bear this hated doom severe? <br />My cheerless suns no pleasure know; <br />Night's horrid car drags, dreary slow; <br />My dismal months no joys are crowning, <br />But spleeny English hanging, drowning. <br /> <br /> <br />"Now Jove, for once be mighty civil. <br />To counterbalance all this evil; <br />Give me, and I've no more to say, <br />Give me Maria's natal day! <br />That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, <br />Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me." <br />"'Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story, <br />And Winter once rejoiced in glory.<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/impromptu-on-mrs-riddell-s-birthday/
