The wild and savage Montague Stood in the radiant sun And proudly wore his azure hue, And saw the harvest done. All summer long he shone so bright, So fresh the autumn dew, And all year long, beneath the light, The varied colors grew.

But when the winter’s hand came round, And touched the boughs with snow, The Montague, so fair, so proud, Was met with icy blow. Yet in the spring he came again, With all his grace anew, The wild and savage Montague, In all his splendid hue.

• Hannah More