  S PRING is the morning of the year, And Summer is the noontide bright; The Autumn is the evening clear That comes before the Winter's night. And in the evening, everywhere Along the roadside, up and down, I see the golden torches flare Like lighted street-lamps in the town. I think the Butterfly and Bee, From distant meadows coming back, Are quite contented when they see These lamps along the homeward track. But those who stay too late get lost; For when the darkness falls about, Down every lighted street the frost Will go and put the torches out! —Frank Dempster Sherman.
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