From field and hedge all green had gone. The freezing rain and sleet had stripped the trees of every leaf from every bough.
May had painted with soft showers this garden full of trees and flowers. The gardener’s hands had worked so well that no place could compare to this unless it were true paradise.
So Dorigen was now alone. She loved Roderick more than her own life, And wept and sighed for him so far away.
So, if you have time for a poem, And so few people have time today, Go take that chair, By the fire over there, And make yourself at ease. First, though, pour yourself a drink.