THE SEASONS
“Mother, I know Spring bears her giftsOf young buds scarce unfurled,For through bare apple-boughs I seeThe blue hills of the world;And the pale daffodils are setSharp, in the April light——”“The gift that Spring has brought to meIs fight, my son, fight.”“And, Mother, on the heels of SpringThe seasons follow hard,When Summer glorifies the fieldAnd Autumn stacks the yard;Time was, I watched their gifts unroll,And scarce could choose the best——”“The gift that I would have of themIs rest, my son, rest.”“But, Mother, might they grant your boonAnd were the conflict done,O Mother, have you strength to stand——?”“I would lie down, my son.”“Where would you look to ease your eyesWhen strife with tears had ceas’t?And whither would your feet be turned——?”“East, my son, east.”
Printed by Hazell Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, England