When chill November's surly blast

Made fields and forests bare.

Robert Burns (1759-1796): Man was made to Mourn.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 13.