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!