  SEASONS that pass me by in varied mood, As on the impressionable land you leave a trace, Molding sometime a delicate flower’s sweet face, Touching again with green the somber wood, Or drawing all beneath a snowy hood,— Am I not worthy as they to have a place In your remembrance? Am I made too base To know what weed and thorn have understood? Fair vernal time, I need your quickening Even as the sleeping Earth! O summer heat Make flower and fruit in me that I may bring Full hands to Autumn when above me beat The serious winds; and Winter, make me strong Like the glad music of your battle song! |
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