The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.

 My girl Carmen:

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows,

And all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone.

I already hear the dead thuds of logs below

Falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.

All of winter will return to me:

derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice,

And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison,

My soul will harden into a block of red ice."

-   Charles Baudelaire, Autumn Song