Humanitad by Oscar Wilde — Read

It is full winter now: the trees are bare, / Save where the cattle huddle from the cold / Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear / The autumn's gaudy livery whose gold / Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true / To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew / From Saturn's cave; a few thin wisps of hay / Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain / Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer's day / From the low meadows up the narrow lane;

Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep / Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs creep / From the shut stable to the frozen stream / And back again disconsolate, and miss / The bawling shepherds and the noisy team;