The Lapse of The Year

SPRING I am too soft of heart
Much to speak ere I depart
Ask the summer tide to prove
The abundance of my love

SUMMER looked for long am I
Much shall change or ere I die
Prithee take it not amiss
Though I weary thee with bliss

Laden AUTUMN here I stand
Weak of heart and warn of hand
Speak the word that sets me free
Naught but rest seems good for me

Ah shall WINTER mend your case
Set your teeth the wind to face
Bear the snow down, tread the frost
All is gained when all is lost

-William Morris