Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.© O.Wilde
How like a winter hath my abcense been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezing have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their lord's decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summers and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing,'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
William Shakespear
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezing have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their lord's decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summers and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing,'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
William Shakespear