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79
THE YEAR'S SEASONS
I
Not as the Winter hours,When the broad landscape cowers
Beneath winds wildly driving over the barren fields;
Not as brief daylight yields
Suddenly to darkness,
Shrouding earth's starkness
In a long lonely night;
O not to such piteous end
Let faithless heart pretend
Draweth the year's full course in Beauty's fell despite!
II
Nay, dream not for this arose
From out the dark stubborn mould
The crocuses', the daffodils' pure gold,
The violet's shy fragrance; not for this the sloes
In virgin raiment white
Greeted the first green flush of leaves adorning
One April morning
Their purple stems; whilst hedges,
And streamlets' spikey sedges,
Stood drenched in silvery sheen of early dew
Under a tremulous heaven's pale canopy of blue!
From out the dark stubborn mould
The crocuses', the daffodils' pure gold,
The violet's shy fragrance; not for this the sloes
In virgin raiment white
Greeted the first green flush of leaves adorning
One April morning
Their purple stems; whilst hedges,
And streamlets' spikey sedges,
Stood drenched in silvery sheen of early dew
Under a tremulous heaven's pale canopy of blue!
Hark!
In burgeoning tree and bush
The blackbird and the thrush
Each morn and eve enchanting
Mingle their notes of love:
And, that there be not wanting
To mid-day's heart a-panting
For melody, the cuckoo monotonously sweet
Doth child-like his familiar note repeat
From the elusive depth of some far distant grove.
In burgeoning tree and bush
The blackbird and the thrush
Each morn and eve enchanting
Mingle their notes of love:
And, that there be not wanting
To mid-day's heart a-panting
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Doth child-like his familiar note repeat
From the elusive depth of some far distant grove.
III
Or see now by wood and meadIn riper grace succeed
Rich Summer's month on month in jewelled pageant wending;
The oak-trees sturdy green,
The birch with tenderer mien,
To woodbine and to rose a gracious closure lending!
Here round their luscious flowers
Hover how joyously bright glistering fays,
Rifling the perfumed petals all the day's
Warm lingering hours:
Nor shall the last thief quit these gaily-haunted bowers
Till in the quiet heaven
O'er the now sunken sun glides down the cool-mantled even.
IV
And who are these that follow
The ruddy corn-ears nodding round their head,
As up the hill-side past yon steaming hollow
Leisurely are their loaded waggons led;
The scent of rich ripening fruit is all around them shed,
And their bronzed cheeks set glowing in the sun
With sheer contentment of strong labour done,
And prize now harvested?
The ruddy corn-ears nodding round their head,
As up the hill-side past yon steaming hollow
Leisurely are their loaded waggons led;
The scent of rich ripening fruit is all around them shed,
And their bronzed cheeks set glowing in the sun
With sheer contentment of strong labour done,
And prize now harvested?
How mellow rests the light on all around!
And mellow is the sound
Of the bland air amid the woody boughts,
'Neath which the tinkling cattle slowly browse;
And on the root-encircling mossy ground
The russet acorns quietly fall and fall.
Joyous, yet most serene, ah! most serene!
Peace in her benediction doth o'er-hallow all
The radiant Autumn scene.
And mellow is the sound
Of the bland air amid the woody boughts,
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And on the root-encircling mossy ground
The russet acorns quietly fall and fall.
Joyous, yet most serene, ah! most serene!
Peace in her benediction doth o'er-hallow all
The radiant Autumn scene.
V
Yet draweth apace pale Winter. Oh! be sure
The secret that he bears we ill divine,
If at his presence we do scarce endure
And cease not to repine:
As though he wrought but some dank heartless tomb,
Into which all these joys decaying fade
At last, and do become
Disentegrate, mere senseless atoms laid
Forgetting and forgot.
No, no, ne'er such a lot
Foredoomed the creative aim of Nature's bounteous mind!
The secret that he bears we ill divine,
If at his presence we do scarce endure
And cease not to repine:
As though he wrought but some dank heartless tomb,
Into which all these joys decaying fade
At last, and do become
Disentegrate, mere senseless atoms laid
Forgetting and forgot.
No, no, ne'er such a lot
Foredoomed the creative aim of Nature's bounteous mind!
O ours be there now the grace to find
In riper vision how thou art no tomb,
Winter, but verily the fruitful womb,
Wherein for a while conceived Beauty lies
In secret nourished for rare enterprise
Of dawning light and glory!
In riper vision how thou art no tomb,
Winter, but verily the fruitful womb,
Wherein for a while conceived Beauty lies
In secret nourished for rare enterprise
Of dawning light and glory!
Ah! Yes!
Even thus, great Nature, shall we read the story
Thou in thy annual course to sentient ears art telling,
To stay with abiding light
Life's hours of changeful flight,
And from misgiving hearts their faithlessness dispelling!
Even thus, great Nature, shall we read the story
Thou in thy annual course to sentient ears art telling,
To stay with abiding light
Life's hours of changeful flight,
And from misgiving hearts their faithlessness dispelling!
January 2nd, 1918.
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