Poems (Baldwyn)/Ode to the Seasons
ODE TO THE SEASONS.
The fresh spring-woods are green, And leaves are softly sighing; And near and far are seen Views of hills, with waves between; Their voices are replying To the sweet song Now heard among The lightsome branches flying!
The summer comes so gay, And brilliant fruits are shining; The fields are rich in hay, 'Tis nature's holiday, And flow'rs, their buds entwining, Shed odours fair Upon the air, The breeze the sweetest finding!
Now, like a noble queen O'er her past glory sighing, The autumn decks the scene, And changes the soft green For glorious hues, Which she doth choose To robe her hour of dying!
Over the mournful plain The stormy winds are blowing; Winter abroad doth reign,—I hear his voice again; Dark clouds above are snowing. But ah, the frost In light is lost! Hope lives though life is going!