Explore "On Mrs. Riddell's Birthday" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
4th November 1793.
Old Winter, with his frosty beard, / Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: / "What have I done of all the year, / To bear this hated doom severe?
My cheerless suns no pleasure know; / Night's horrid car drags, dreary slow; / My dismal months no joys are crowning, / But spleeny English hanging, drowning.
"Now Jove, for once be mighty civil. / To counterbalance all this evil; / Give me, and I've no more to say, / Give me Maria's natal day! / That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, / Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me. " / "Tis done! " says Jove; so ends my story, / And Winter once rejoiced in glory.