The Months Poem by Anonymous British

January.
Lo, my fair! the morning lazy
Peeps abroad from yonder hill;
Phoebus rises, red and hazy;
Frost has stopp'd the village mill.

February.
All around looks sad and dreary,
Fast the flaky snow descends:
Yet the red-breast chirrups cheerly,
While the mitten'd lass attends.

March.
Rise the winds and rock the cottage,
Thaws the roof, and wets the path;
Dorcas cooks the savory pottage;
Smokes the cake upon the hearth.

April.
Sunshine intermits with ardor,
Shades fly swiftly o'er the fields;
Showers revive the drooping verdure,
Sweets the sunny upland yields.

May.
Pearly beams the eye of morning;
Child, forbear the deed unblest!
Hawthorn every hedge adorning,
Pluck the flowers - but spare the nest.

June.
Schoolboys, in the brook disporting,
Spend the sultry hour of play:
While the nymphs and swains are courting,
Seated on the new-made hay.

July.
Maids, with each a guardian lover,
While the vivid lightning flies,
Hastening to the nearest cover,
Clasp their hands before their eyes.

August.
See the reapers, gleaners, dining,
Seated on the shady grass;
O'er the gate the squire reclining,
Stily eyes each ruddy lass.

September.
Hark! a sound like distant thunder,
Murderer, may thy malice fail!
Torn from all they love asunder,
Widow'd birds around us wail.

October.
Now Pomona pours her treasure,
Leaves autumnal strew the ground:
Plenty crowns the market measure,
While the mill runs briskly round.

November.
Now the giddy rites of Comus
Crown the hunter's dear delight;
Ah! the year is fleeing from us:
Bleak the day, and drear the night.

December.
Bring more wood, and set the glasses,
Join, my friends, our Christmas cheer,
Come, a catch! - and kiss the lasses -
Christmas comes but once a year.