Did Fear betwixt the winters hide,
In Autumn, donned his mangy hide,
“Hail all, all’s well!” he ravenously cried.
And now he darkens darkness skyed,
And now the hands of cold untied,
And now his hunger grows. With every stride
The mother begs a piece of bread;
She claims the cold’s gone to his head.
“Or maybe you could spare a quid instead,”
How art thou, banker, in thy lair?
Dost thou know that it’s unfair?
Canst thou see (wouldst thou give the merest care)
When all’s repaid that has been spent
That day there will be no relent
Wouldst thou, before then, offer some consent,