William Shakespeare(1564–1616)
Sonnet 97
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed 0 was summer's time,of separation
The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,6
Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease.
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;
For summer and his 0 pleasures wait on thee,its
And thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,7
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.