To the Virginian Winter O Thou who reign’st, in bitter winter’s chill, Thy breath doth paralyze the breezes sweet, And all that green that gardens would fulfill, Must yield to thee and stoop beneath thy feet.

Yet thou art glorious, clothed in ice and hoar, As Nature’s guise does drape this dazzling land; In splendor so, thou art the cold of yore, Where stillness rules, and arts of winter stand.

So, as I brave thine onslaught, keen and strong, In this bewildering storm, let me defer; Be nought but time, my heart’s a winter song, And swift I glide to find a spring of her.

As season turns, may even you abide, The warmth to spring forth from the winter’s pride!

• Michael Drayton