Rondeau

(Charles d' Orléans)

The season hath its mantle shed
Of wind, of cold and fretting rain,
And now itself hath clad again,
With sunlight's broidery o'erspread.
Now every beast or bird hath said
In his own tongue that winter's slain.
The season hath its mantle shed
Of wind, of cold and fretting rain.
Now springs and streams and rivers thread
Their winding ways, and liveries gain
Of silver drops, a dress obtain
Once more of gold and jewels red.
The season hath its mantle shed.

—C.G.W.