XX <br /> <br />Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, <br />Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, <br />Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire <br />Help waste a sullen day, what may be won <br />From the hard season gaining? Time will run <br />On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire <br />The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire <br />The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. <br />What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, <br />Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise <br />To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice <br />Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? <br />He who of those delights can judge, and spare <br />To interpose them oft, is not unwise.<br /><br />John Milton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-20/
