William Baylebridge - To Winter in the Midst of His Reign lyrics

Thou grim physician, armed with septic shears, Thou that dissemblest even in d**h's repose Earth's quiet pulse and her remedial throes, How dull thy visage on this day appears! Let now the dismal heaven give vent, its tears Come frozen ever; no gale coeval blows Filled with the ravaged perfume of the rose; And keep not all fair things forsaken biers? O haste, then, spiritless minister, thy pains To charge the sources of the unfruitful earth For harvests blest in wood, in plot and lawn! O laggard, on! till fire re-flood the veins Of Spring here, ay, to trip the vales with Mirth, As, long night over, does the exulting dawn!