A young year's freshness in the air,
A spring-tide color to the wood;
The flowers in spring-time most are fair,
And life in spring-time most is good;
For why? - I will not let you hear
Until the summer is a-near.
A summer all of burning lights
With crimson roses, passion red,
And moonlight for the hot, white nights,
And jasmine flowers, sweet, dew-fed.
Why has each rose a double scent?
You may divine when it is spent.
Autumn with shining yellow sheaves,
And garnered fruit; and half regret
To watch the dreary falling leaves
And eaden skies above them set;
And why e'en autumn can seem dear
Perchance you'll guess, when winter's here.
Winter, in wide, snow-covered plains,
And drifting sleet, and piercing wind,
That chills the blood within our veins,
But our warm hearts can never find -
Ah, little love, you guess, I know,
What warms our hearts in spite of snow.