Classic Poem

— — So shall young Spring
Here his first snow-drop fling;
And Summer here his showery blossoms shed,
And, when the warmer Suns are past,
Here shall sick Autumn linger out his last;
And when dull Winter lours around,
White all the plains and lock'd the frozen ground,
When Winds blow high, and Tempests peal,
Here not a bending bough shall feel
The roaring rudeness of the ruffian storm!