What makes old age so sad is not that our joys but our hopes cease
by Charles d'Orleans
The weather's cat its cloak of grey
Woven of wind and cold and rain,
And wears embroidered clothes again
Of clear sunshine, in fair array.
No beast, no bird, but in its way
Cries out or sings in wood and plain:
The weather's cast its cloak of grey
Woven of wind and cold and rain.
River and spring and brook this day
Wear handsome liveries that feign
More silver stars thatn Charles's Wain,
Mingled with drops of golden spray.
The weather's cast its cloak of grey.