FROM you have I been absent in the spring, <br />When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, <br />Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, <br />That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. <br />Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell <br />Of different flowers in odour and in hue, <br />Could make me any summer's story tell, <br />Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; <br />Nor did I wonder at the Lily's white, <br />Nor praise the deep vermilion in the Rose; <br />They were but sweet, but figures of delight, <br />Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. <br /> Yet seem'd it Winter still, and, you away, <br /> As with your shadow I with these did play.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-xiii/
