John Byrom

For without transformation
Men become wolves on every slight occasion.

For without transformation
Men become wolves on every slight occasion.

But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
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But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like a snake.

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

A tigress, robb'd of young, a lioness,
Or other interesting beast of prey,
Are similes at hand read more

A tigress, robb'd of young, a lioness,
Or other interesting beast of prey,
Are similes at hand for the distress
Of ladies who cannot have their own way.

But scandal's my aversion--I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

But scandal's my aversion--I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.