THe weary yeare his race now hauing run, <br />The new begins his compast course anew: <br />with shew of morning mylde he hath begun, <br />betokening peace and plenty to ensew, <br />So let vs, which this chaunge of weather vew, <br />chaunge eeke our mynds and former liues amend <br />the old yeares sinnes forepast let vs eschew, <br />and fly the faults with which we did offend. <br />Then shall the new yeares ioy forth freshly send, <br />into the glooming world his gladsome ray: <br />and all these stormes which now his beauty blend, <br />shall turne to caulmes and tymely cleare away. <br />So likewise loue cheare you your heauy spright, <br />and chaunge old yeares annoy to new delight.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxii-2/
