THOUGHTSON THE SEASONS

Flattered with promise of escape From every hurtful blast, Spring takes, O sprightly May! thy shape, Her loveliest and her last.

Less fair is summer riding high In fierce solstitial power, Less fair than when a lenient sky Brings on her parting hour.

When earth repays with golden sheaves The labours of the plough, And ripening fruits and forest leaves All brighten on the bough;

What pensive beauty autumn shows, Before she hears the sound Of winter rushing in, to close The emblematic round!

Such be our Spring, our Summer such; So may our Autumn blend With hoary Winter, and Life touch, Through heaven-born hope, her end!