Goblin Market, and other poems, by Christina Rossetti

Summer is gone with all its roses,

    Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers,

    Its warm air and refreshing showers:

        And even Autumn closes.

Yea, Autumn’s chilly self is going,

    And winter comes which is yet colder;

    Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder,

        And the last buds cease blowing.