Winter Wakenth All My Care*

Winter wakeneth all my care,
Now these leaves waxeth** bare;
Oft I sigh and mournfully stare
When it cometh in my thought
Of this world's joy, how it goeth all to naught.

Now it is, now not seen***,
As though it hath never been;
That many sayeth, and so is still:
All goeth by God's will:
All we shall die, though we like it ill****.

All that green which groweth green,
Now it fadeth which has been***:
Jesu, help that it be seen
And shield us from Hell!
For I know not how long I go, nor how long here I dwell.

----Anonymous

*Paraphrased in slightly more modern English.  It is one of the earliest surviving winter poems in English literature, original written in Middle English spelling.

**"Wax", an old word for "to grow", from the German "wachsen."  Now used only to speak of the "waxing moon", when the lit part of the moon appears to be growing, all the way to full moon.

**See Psalm 90, which speaks of the grass quickly fading and compares this to the short lives of people.  Also, Jesus' Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6 and Luke 12, how God clothes the grass of the field, which quickly dies, with beautiful flowers.

***Though we don't like it at all